THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING 


AND 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT 


THE   SKIPPER'S 
WOOING 


BY 
W.    W.   JACOBS 


McKINLAY,  STONE  &  MACKENZIE 
NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  1897, 

BY  BACHELLER  SYNDICATE. 

COPYRIGHT,  1897, 
Bv  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


Ism 


TO  MY  FATHER 
WILLIAM  GAGE  JACOBS 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  schooner  Seamew,  of  London,  Captain  Wil- 
son master  and  owner,  had  just  finished  loading  at 
Northfleet  with  cement  for  Brittlesea.  Every  inch 
of  space  was  packed.  Cement,  exuded  from  the 
cracks,  imparted  to  the  hairy  faces  of  honest  seamen 
a  ghastly  appearance  sadly  out  of  keeping  with 
their  characters,  and  even  took  its  place,  disguised 
as  thickening,  among  the  multiple  ingredients  of  a 
sea-pie  that  was  cooking  for  dinner. 

It  was  not  until  the  decks  were  washed  and  the 
little  schooner  was  once  more  presentable  that  the 
mate  gave  a  thought  to  his  own  toilet.  It  was  a 
fine,  warm  morning  in  May,  and  some  of  the  cargo 
had  got  into  his  hair  and  settled  in  streaks  on  his 
hot,  good-humored  face.  The  boy  had  brought  aft 
a  wooden  bucket  filled  with  fair  water,  and  placed 
upon  the  hatch  by  its  side  a  piece  of  yellow  soap 
and  a  towel.  Upon  these  preparations  the  mate 
smiled  pleasantly,  and  throwing  off  his  shirt  and 

7 


S  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

girding  his  loins  with  his  braces,  he  bent  over  and 
with  much  zestful  splashing  began  his  ablutions. 

Twice  did  the  ministering  angel,  who  was  not  of 
an  age  to  be  in  any  great  concern  about  his  own 
toilet,  change  the  water  before  the  mate  was 
satisfied  ;  after  which  the  latter,  his  face  and  neck 
aglow  with  friction,  descended  to  the  cabin  for  a 
change  of  raiment. 

He  did  not  appear  on  deck  again  until  after 
dinner,  which,  in  the  absence  of  the  skipper,  he  ate 
alone.  The  men,  who  had  also  dined,  were  lounging 
forward,  smoking,  and  the  mate,  having  filled  his 
own  pipe,  sat  down  by  himself  and  smoked  in 
silence. 

"  I'm  keeping  the  skipper's  dinner  *ot  in  a  small 
sorsepan,  sir,"  said  the  cook,  thrusting  his  head  out 
of  the  galley. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  mate. 

"  It's  a  funny  thing  where  the  skipper  gets  to  these 
times,"  said  the  cook,  addressing  nobody  in  par- 
ticular,  but  regarding  the  mate  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye. 

"Very  rum,"  said  the  mate,  who  was  affably  in- 
clined  just  then. 

The  cook  came  out  of  the  galley,  and,  wiping  his 
wet  hands  on  his  dirty  canvas  trousers,  drew  near 
and  gazed  in  a  troubled  fashion  ashore. 

"  'E's  the  best  cap'n  I  ever  sailed  under,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Ain't  it  struck  you,  sir,  he's  been  worried 
like  these  'ere  last  few  trips  ?  I  told  'im  as  'e  was 
goin'  ashore  as  there  was  sea-pie  for  dinner,  and  'e 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  9 

ses,  '  All  right,  Joe,'  'e  ses,  just  as  if  I'd  said  boiled 
beef  and  taters,  or  fine  mornin',  sir,  or  anythink  like 
that ! " 

The  mate  shook  his  head,  blew  out  a  cloud  of 
smoke  and  watched  it  lazily  as  it  disappeared. 

"  It  strikes  me  as  'ow  'e's  arter  fresh  cargo  or  some- 
thin',''  said  a  stout  old  seaman  who  had  joined  the 
cook.  "  Look  'ow  'e's  dressing  nowadays  !  Why, 
the  cap'n  of  a  steamer  ain't  smarter  ! " 

"  Not  so  smart,  Sam,"  said  the  remaining  seaman, 
who,  encouraged  by  the  peaceful  aspect  of  the  mate 
had  also  drawn  near.  "  I  don't  think  it's  cargo  he's 
after,  though — cement  pays  all  right." 

'*  It  airit  cargo,"  said  a  small  but  confident  voice. 

"  You  clear  out !  "  said  old  Sam.  "  A  boy  o'  your 
age  shovin'  his  spoke  in  when  'is  elders  is  talkin* ! 
What  next,  I  wonder ! " 

"  Where  am  I  to  clear  to  ?  I'm  my  own  end  of 
the  ship  anyway,"  said  the  youth  vindictively. 

The  men  started  to  move,  but  it  was  too  late.  The 
mate's  latent  sense  of  discipline  was  roused  and  he 
jumped  up  in  a  fury. 

"  My 1  "  he  said,  "  if  there  ain't  the  whole 

blasted  ship's  company  aft — every  man  Jack  of  'em  ! 
Come  down  in  the  cabin,  gentlemen,  come  down  and 
have  a  drop  of  Hollands  and  a  cigar  apiece.  All 
the  riffraff  o'  the  foc'sle  sitting  aft  and  prattling  about 
the  skipper  like  a  parcel  o'  washerwomen.  And 
smoking,  by !  smoking  /  Well,  when  the  skip- 
per comes  aboard  he'll  have  to  get  a  fresh  crew  or 
a  fresh  mate.  I'm  sick  of  it.  Why,  it  might  be  a 


io  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

barge  for  all  the  discipline  that's  kept !  The  boy's 
the  only  sailor  among  you." 

He  strode  furiously  up  and  down  the  deck;  the 
cook  disappeared  into  the  galley,  and  the  two  sea- 
men began  to  bustle  about  forward.  The  small  ex- 
pert who  had  raised  the  storm,  by  no  means  desirous 
of  being  caught  in  the  tail  of  it,  put  his  pipe  in  his 
pocket  and  looked  round  for  a  job. 

"  Come  here  !  "  said  the  mate  sternly. 

The  boy  came  towards  him. 

"  What  was  that  you  were  saying  about  the  skip- 
per?" demanded  the  other. 

"  I  said  it  wasn't  cargo  he  was  after,"  said  Henry. 

"  Oh,  a  lot  you  know  about  it !  "  said  the  mate. 

Henry  scratched  his  leg,  but  said  nothing. 

"  A  lot  you  know  about  it !  "  repeated  the  mate 
in  rather  a  disappointed  tone. 

Henry  scratched  the  other  leg. 

"  Don't  let  me  hear  you  talking  about  your  superior 
officer's  affairs  again,"  said  the  mate  sharply.  "  Mind 
that !  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  boy  humbly.  "  It  ain't  my 
business,  o'  course." 

"  What  isn't  your  business?  "  said  the  mate  care- 
lessly. "  His,"  said  Henry. 

The  mate  turned  away  seething,  and  hearing  a 
chuckle  from  the  galley,  went  over  there  and  stared 
at  the  cook — a  wretched  being  with  no  control  at  all 
over  his  feelings — for  quite  five  minutes.  In  that 
short  space  of  time  he  discovered  that  the  galley 
was  the  dirtiest  hole  under  the  sun  and  the  cook  the 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  u 

uncleanest  person  that  ever  handled  food.  He  im- 
parted his  discoveries  to  the  cook,  and  after  reducing 
him  to  a  state  of  perspiring  imbecility,  turned  round 
and  rated  the  men  again.  Having  charged  them 
with  insolence  when  they  replied,  and  with  sulkiness 
when  they  kept  silent,  he  went  below,  having  secured 
a  complete  victory,  and  the  incensed  seamen,  after 
making  sure  that  he  had  no  intention  of  returning, 
went  towards  Henry  to  find  fault  with  him, 

"  If  you  was  my  boy,"  said  Sam,  breathing  heavily, 
"  I'd  thrash  you  to  within  a  inch  of  your  life." 

"  If  I  was  your  boy  I  should  drown  myself,"  said 
Henry  very  positively. 

Henry's  father  had  frequently  had  occasion  to 
remark  that  his  son  favored  his  mother,  and  his 
mother  possessed  a  tongue  which  was  famed  through- 
out Wapping,  and  obtained  honorable  mention  in 
distant  Limehouse. 

"  You  can't  expect  discipline  aboard  a  ship  where 
the  skipper  won't  let  you  'it  the  boy,"  said  Dick 
moodily.  "  It's  bad  for  'im  too." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  me,  my  lads,"  said  Henry 
with  offensive  patronage.  "  I  can  take  care  of  my- 
self all  right.  You  ain't  seen  me  come  aboard  so 
drunk  that  I've  tried  to  get  down  the  foc'sle  without 
shoving  the  scuttle  back.  You  never  knew  me  to 
buy  a  bundle  o'  forged  pawn-tickets.  You  never " 

"  Listen  to  'im,"  said  Sam,  growing  purple.  "  I'll 
be  'ung  for  'im  yet." 

"  If  you  ain't,  I  will,"  growled  Dick,  with  whom 
the  matter  of  the  pawn-tickets  was  a  sore  subject. 


12  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Boy  !  "  yelled  the  mate,  thrusting  his  head  out 
at  the  companion. 

"  Coming,  sir !  "  said  Henry.  "  Sorry  I  can't  stop 
any  longer,"  he  said  politely ;  "  but  me  an*  the 
mate's  going  to  have  a  little  chat." 

"  I'll  have  to  get  another  ship,"  said  Dick,  watching 
the  small  spindly  figure  as  it  backed  down  the  com- 
panion-ladder. "  I  never  was  on  a  ship  afore  where 
the  boy  could  do  as  he  liked." 

Sam  shook  his  head  and  sighed.  "  It's  the  best 
ship  I  was  ever  on,  barrin'  that,"  he  said  sternly. 

"  What'll  'e  be  like  when  he  grows  up  ?  "  demanded 
Dick,  as  he  lost  himself  in  the  immensity  of  the  con- 
jecture. "  It  ain't  right  t'  the  boy  to  let  him  go  on 
like  that.  One  good  hidin'  a  week  would  do  'im 
good  and  us  too." 

Meantime  the  object  of  their  care  had  reached  the 
cabin,  and,  leaning  against  the  fireplace,  awaited  the 
mate's  pleasure. 

*'  Where's  the  cap'n  ?  "  demanded  the  latter,  plung- 
ing at  once  into  the  subject. 

Henry  turned  and  looked  at  the  small  clock. 

"  Walkin'  up  and  down  a  street  in  Gravesend,"  he 
said  deliberately. 

"  Oh,  you've  got  the  second-sight,  I  s'pose,"  said 
the  mate  reddening.  "And  what's  he  doing  that 
for?" 

"  To  see  'er  come  out,"  said  the  boy. 

The  mate  restrained  himself,  but  with  difficulty. 

"  And  what'll  he  do  when  she  does  come  out  ?  H 
he  demanded. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  13 

"  Nothin',"  replied  the  seer  with  conviction. 
"What  are  you  lookin'  for?"  he  inquired,  with  a 
trace  of  anxiety  in  his  voice,  as  the  mate  rose  from 
the  locker,  and,  raising  the  lid,  began  groping  for 
something  in  the  depths. 

"  Bit  o'  rope,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  what  did  yer  ask  me  for  ?  "  said  Henry  with 
hasty  tearfulness.  "  It's  the  truth.  *E  won't  do 
nothin' ;  'e  never  does — only  stares." 

"  D'you  mean  to  say  you  ain't  been  gammoning 
me  ? "  demanded  the  mate,  seizing  him  by  the 
collar. 

"  Come  and  see  for  yourself,"  said  Henry. 

The  mate  released  him,  and  stood  eyeing  him  with 
a  puzzled  expression  as  a  thousand-and-one  little 
eccentricities  on  the  part  of  the  skipper  suddenly 
occurred  to  him. 

"Go  and  make  yourself  tidy,"  he  said  sharply; 
"and  mind  if  I  find  you've  been  doing  me  I'll  flay 
you  alive." 

The  boy  needed  no  second  bidding.  He  dashed 
up  on  deck  and,  heedless  of  the  gibes  of  the  crew, 
began  a  toilet  such  as  he  had  never  before  been 
known  to  make  within  the  memory  of  man. 

"What's  up,  kiddy?"  inquired  the  cook,  whose 
curiosity  became  unbearable. 

"  Wot  d'you  mean  ? "  demanded  Henry  with 
dignity. 

"  Washin',  and  all  that,"  said  the  cook,  who  was 
a  plain  creature. 

"  Don't  you  ever  wash  yourself,  you  dirty  pig?" 


I4  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

said  Henry  elegantly.  "  I  s'pose  you  think  doin* 
the  cookin'  keeps  you  clean,  though." 

The  cook  wrung  his  hands,  and,  unconscious  of 
plagiarism,  told  Sam  he'd  be  'ung  for  'im. 

"  Me  and  the  mate  are  goin*  for  a  little  stroll, 
Sam,"  observed  the  youth  as  he  struggled  into  his 
jersey.  "  Keep  your  eyes  open,  and  don't  get  into 
mischief.  You  can  give  Slushy  a  'and  with  the 
sorsepans  if  you've  got  nothin'  better  to  do.  Don't 
stand  about  idle." 

The  appearance  of  the  mate  impeded  Sam's  utter- 
»nce,  and  he  stood  silently  by  the  others,  watching 
the  couple  as  they  clambered  ashore.  It  was  noticed 
that  Henry  carried  his  head  very  erect,  but  whether 
this  was  due  to  the  company  he  was  keeping  or  the 
spick-and-span  appearance  he  made,  they  were  un- 
able to  determine. 

"  Easy — go  easy,"  panted  the  mate,  mopping  his 
red  face  with  a  handkerchief.  "  What  are  you  in 
such  a  hurry  for?  " 

"  We  shall  be  too  late  if  we  don't  hurry,"  said 
Henry ;  "  then  you'll  think  I've  been  tellin'  lies." 

The  mate  made  no  further  protest,  and  at  the  same 
rapid  pace  they  walked  on  until  they  reached  a  quiet 
road  on  the  outskirts  of  Gravesend. 

"  There  he  is !  "  said  Henry  triumphantly,  as  he 
stopped  and  pointed  up  the  road  at  the  figure  of  a 
man  slowly  pacing  up  and  down.  "  She's  at  a  little 
school  up  at  the  other  end.  A  teacher  or  somethin'. 
Here  they  come." 

As  he  spoke  a  small  damsel  with  a  satchel  and  3 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  15 

roll  of  music  issued  from  a  house  at  the  other  end  of 
the  road,  the  advanced  guard  of  a  small  company 
which  in  twos  and  threes  now  swarmed  out  and  went 
their  various  ways. 

"  Nice  girls,  some  of  'em  !  "  said  Henry,  glancing 
approvingly  at  them  as  they  passed.  "  Oh,  here  she 
comes !  I  can't  say  I  see  much  in  her  myself." 

The  mate  looked  up  and  regarded  the  girl  as  she 
approached  with  considerable  interest.  He  saw  a 
pretty  girl  with  nice  gray  eyes  and  a  flush,  which 
might  be  due  to  the  master  of  the  Seamew — who 
was  following  at  a  respectful  distance  behind  her — 
trying  to  look  unconcerned  at  this  unexpected  ap- 
pearance. 

"  Halloa,  Jack !  "  he  said  carelessly. 

"  Halloa ! "  said  the  mate,  with  a  great  attempt  at 
surprise.  "  Who'd  ha'  thought  o*  seeing  you  here  !  " 

The  skipper,  disdaining  to  reply  to  this  hypocrisy, 
stared  at  Henry  until  an  intelligent  and  friendly 
grin  faded  slowly  from  that  youth's  face  and  left  it 
expressionless.  "  I've  just  been  having  a  quiet 
stroll,"  he  said,  slowly  turning  to  the  mate. 

"  Well,  so  long  !  "  said  the  latter,  anxious  to  escape. 

The  other  nodded,  and  turned  to  resume  his  quiet 
stroll  at  a  pace  which  made  the  mate  hot  to  look  at 
him.  "  He'll  have  to  look  sharp  if  he's  going  to 
catch  her  now,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 

"  He  won't  catch  her,"  said  Henry;  "he  never 
does — leastways  if  he  does  he  only  passes  and  looks 
at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  He  writes  letter? 
to  her  of  a  night,  but  he  never  gives  'em  to  her." 


16  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  demanded  the  other. 

"  Cos  I  look  at  'im  over  his  shoulder  while  I'm 
puttin'  things  in  the  cupboard,"  said  Henry. 

The  mate  stopped  and  regarded  his  hopeful 
young  friend  fixedly. 

"  I  s'pose  you  look  over  my  shoulder  too,  some- 
times ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  You  never  write  to  anybody  except  your  wife," 
said  Henry  carelessly,  "or  your  mother.  Leastways 
I've  never  known  you  to." 

"  You'll  come  to  a  bad  end,  my  lad,"  said  the  mate 
thickly  ;  "  that's  what  you'll  do." 

"  What  'e  does  with  'em  7  can't  think,"  continued 
Henry,  disregarding  his  future.  "  'E  don't  give  'em 
to  'er.  Ain't  got  the  pluck,  I  s'pose.  Phew !  Ain't 
it  'ot !  " 

They  had  got  down  to  the  river  again,  and  he  hesi- 
tated in  front  of  a  small  beer-shop  whose  half  open 
door  and  sanded  floor  offered  a  standing  invitation 
to  passers-by. 

"  Could  you  do  a  bottle  o'  ginger-beer?"  inquired 
the  mate,  attracted  in  his  turn. 

"  No,"  said  Henry  shortly,  "  I  couldn't.  I  don't 
mind  having  what  you're  going  to  have." 

The  mate  grinned,  and,  leading  the  way  in,  ordered 
refreshment  for  two,  exchanging  a  pleasant  wink  with 
the  proprietor  as  that  humorist  drew  the  lad's  half- 
pint  in  a  quart  pot. 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  blow  the  head  off,  sir  ?  "  in- 
quired the  landlord  as  Henry,  after  glancing  darkly 
into  the  depths  and  nodding  to  the  mate,  buried  his 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  17 

small  face  in  the  pewter.     "You'll  get  your  mous- 
tache all  mussed  up  if  you  don't." 

The  boy  withdrew  his  face,  and,  wiping  his  mouth 
with  the  back  of  his  hand,  regarded  the  offender  close- 
ly.  "So  long  as  it  don't  turn  it  red  I  don't  mind," 
he  said  patiently,  "  and  I  don't  think  as  'ow  your 
swipes  would  hurt  anythin'." 

He  went  out,  followed  by  the  mate,  leaving  the 
landlord  wiping  down  the  counter  with  one  hand 
while  he  mechanically  stroked  his  moustache  with 
the  other.  By  the  time  a  suitable  retort  occurred 
to  him  the  couple  were  out  of  earshot. 
* 


i8  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CAPTAIN  WILSON,  hot  with  the  combined  effects 
of  exercise  and  wrath,  continued  the  pursuit,  but 
the  pause  to  say  sweet  nothings  to  the  second  in 
command  was  fatal  to  his  success.  He  had  often 
before  had  occasion  to  comment  ruefully  upon  the 
pace  of  the  quarry,  and  especially  at  such  times 
when  he  felt  that  he  had  strung  his  courage  almost 
up  to  speaking  point.  To-day  he  was  just  in  time 
to  see  her  vanish  into  the  front  garden  of  a  small 
house,  upon  the  door  of  which  she  knocked  with 
expressive  vigor.  She  disappeared  into  the  house 
just  as  he  reached  the  gate. 

"  Damn  the  mate  !  "  he  said  irritably — "  and  the 
boy,"  he  added,  anxious  to  be  strictly  impartial. 

He  walked  on  aimlessly  at  a  slow  pace  until  the 
houses  ended  and  the  road  became  a  lane  shaded 
with  tall  trees  and  flanked  by  hawthorn  hedges. 
Along  this  he  walked  a  little  way,  and  then,  nerv- 
ously fingering  a  note  in  his  jacket  pocket,  retraced 
his  steps. 

"  I'll  see  her  and  speak  to  her  anyway,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  Here  goes." 

He  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  and,  with 
his  heart  thumping,  and  a  choking  sensation  in  his 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  19 

throat,  walked  up  to  the  door  and  gave  a  little 
whisper  of  a  knock  upon  it.  It  was  so  faint  that, 
after  waiting  a  considerable  time,  he  concluded  that 
it  had  not  been  heard,  and  raised  the  knocker 
again.  Then  the  door  opened  suddenly,  and  the 
knocker,  half  detained  in  his  grasp,  slipped  from  his 
fingers  and  fell  with  a  crash  that  made  him  tremble 
at  his  hardihood.  An  elderly  woman  with  white 
hair  opened  the  door.  She  repressed  a  start  and 
looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Cap'n  Jackson  in?"  inquired  the  skipper,  his 
nerves  thoroughly  upset  by  the  knocker. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  the  other. 

"  Cap'n  Jackson,"  repeated  the  skipper,  reddening. 

"  There  is  no  such  man  here,"  said  the  old  woman. 
"  Are  you  sure  it  is  Captain  Jackson  you  want  ?  " 
she  added. 

"  I'm — I'm  not  sure,"  said  Wilson  truthfully. 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him  eagerly.  "  Will 
you  come  in  ?  "  she  said  slowly,  and,  without  giving 
him  time  to  refuse,  led  the  way  into  the  small  front 
room.  The  skipper  followed  her  with  the  con- 
science of  a  fox  invited  into  a  poultry  yard,  and 
bringing  up  in  the  doorway,  gazed  uncomfortably 
at  the  girl  who  had  risen  at  his  entrance. 

"  This  gentleman  is  inquiring  for  a  Captain  Jack- 
son," said  the  old  woman,  turning  to  the  girl.  "  I 
thought  he — he  doesn't  seem  quite  sure  whether  it 
is  Captain  Jackson  he  wants — he  may  bring  news," 
she  concluded  incoherently. 

"  It's  not  likely,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  regarding 


20  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

the  adventurous  mariner  by  no  means  favorably. 
"There  is  no  Captain  Jackson  here,  sir." 

"  Have  you  been  looking  for  him  long?  "  inquired 
the  mother. 

"  Years  and  years,"  said  the  other,  forgetting  him- 
self. 

The  old  woman  sighed  sympathetically.  "  Won't 
jrou  sit  down  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  skipper,  and  took  the  edge 
of  the  sofa. 

"  You're  not  quite  certain  of  th«  name  ? "  sug- 
gested the  girl  coldly. 

"  It — it  sounded  like  Jackson,"  murmured  the 
intruder  in  a  small,  modest  voice.  "  It  might  have 
been  Blackson,  or  Dackson,  or  even  Snackson — I 
won't  swear  to  it." 

The  old  woman  put  her  hand  to  her  brow.  "  I 
thought  perhaps  you  might  have  brought  me  some 
news  of  my  poor  husband,"  she  said  at  length.  "  I 
lost  him  some  years  ago,  and  when  you  came  here 
inquiring  for  a  seafaring  man  I  thought  you  might 
somehow  have  brought  news." 

"  You  must  see,  mother,  that  this  gentleman  is 
looking  for  somebody  else,"  said  the  girl ;  "  you  are 
hindering  him  from  finding  Captain  Jackson.'* 

"  If  he's  been  looking  for  him  for  years,"  said  the 
old  woman,  bridling  mildly,  "  a  few  minutes  will  not 
make  much  difference." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Wilson,  in  a  voice  which  he 
tried  in  vain  to  make  stronger.  "When  you  say 
lost,  ma'am,  you  mean  missing  ?  " 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  2i 

"  Five  years,"  said  the  old  woman,  shaking  her 
head  and  folding  her  hands  in  her  lap.  "  How  long 
do  you  say  you've  been  looking  for  Captain  Jack- 
son ?  " 

"  Seven,"  said  the  skipper  with  a  calmness  which 
surprised  himself. 

"  And  you  haven't  given  up  hope,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  while  life  lasts,"  said  the  other,  studying 
the  carpet. 

"That's  the  way  I  feel,"  said  the  old  woman  ener- 
getically. "  What  a  surprise  it'll  be  when  you  meet 
him  ! " 

"  For  both  of  them,"  said  the  girl. 

"  It's  five  years  last  May — the  2Oth  of  May,"  said 
the  old  woman,  "  since  I  last  saw  my  poor  husband. 
He " 

"  It  can't  be  of  any  interest  to  this  gentleman, 
mother,"  interposed  the  girl. 

"  I'm  very  much  interested,  ma'am,"  said  the 
skipper  defiantly;  "  besides,  when  I'm  looking  for 
poor  Jackson,  who  knows  I  mightn't  run  up  against 
the  other." 

"  Ah !  who  knows  but  what  you  might,"  said  the 
old  woman.  "  There's  one  gentleman  looking  for 
him  now — Mr.  Glover,  my  daughter's  husband  that 
is  to  be." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  then  the  skipper,  by  dint 
of  combining  his  entire  stock  of  Christianity  and 
politeness,  found  speech.  "  I  hope  he  finds  him," 
he  said  slowly. 

"  All  that  a  man  can  do  he's  doing,"  said  the  old 


21  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

lady.  "  He's  a  commercial  traveller  by  trade,  and  he 
gets  about  a  great  deal  in  the  way  of  business." 

"Have  you  tried  advertising?"  inquired  the 
skipper,  striving  manfully  to  keep  his  interest  up 
to  its  former  pitch. 

The  other  shook  her  head  and  looked  uneasily  at 
her  daughter. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  any  good,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice 
— "  it  wouldn't  be  any  good." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  pry  into  your  business  in 
any  way,"  said  Wilson,  "  but  I  go  into  a  good  many 
ports  in  the  course  of  the  year,  and  if  you  think  it 
would  be  any  use  my  looking  about  I'll  be  pleased 
and  proud  to  do  so,  if  you'll  give  me  some  idea  of 
who  to  look  for." 

The  old  lady  fidgeted  with  all  the  manner 
of  one  half  desiring  and  half  fearing  to  divulge  a 
secret.  i 

rt  You  see  we  lost  him  in  rather  peculiar  circum- 
stances," she  said,  glancing  uneasily  at  her  daughter 
again.  "  He " 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  that,  you 
know,  ma'am,"  interposed  the  skipper  gently. 

"  It  would  be  no  good  advertising  for  my  father," 
said  the  girl  in  her  clear  voice,  "  because  he  can 
neither  read  nor  write.  He  is  a  very  passionate, 
hasty  man,  and  five  years  ago  he  struck  a  man  down 
and  thought  he  had  killed  him.  We  have  seen 
nothing  and  heard  nothing  of  him  since." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  strong  man,"  commented 
the  skipper. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  2$ 

"  He  had  something  in  his  hand,"  said  the  girl, 
bending  low  over  her  work.  "  But  he  didn't  hurt 
him  really.  The  man  was  at  work  two  days  after, 
and  he  bears  him  no  ill-will  at  all." 

"  He  might  be  anywhere,"  said  the  skipper,  medi- 
tating. 

"He  would  be  sure  to  be  where  there  are- ships," 
said  the  old  lady;  "I'm  certain  of  it.  You  see  he 
was  captain  of  a  ship  himself  a  good  many  years, 
and  for  one  thing  he  couldn't  live  away  from  the 
water,  and  for  another  it's  the  only  way  he  has  of 
getting  a  living,  poor  man — unless  he's  gone  to  sea 
again,  which  isn't  likely." 

"Coasting  trade,  I  suppose?"  said  the  skipper, 
glancing  at  two  or  three  small  craft  which  were  float- 
ing in  oil  round  the  walls. 

The  old  lady  nodded.  "  Those  were  his  ships," 
she  said,  following  his  glance ;  "  but  the  painters 
never  could  get  the  clouds  to  please  him.  I  shouldn't 
think  there  was  a  man  in  all  England  harder  to 
please  with  clouds  than  he  was."  \ 

"  What  sort  of  looking  man  is  he  ? "  inquired 
Wilson. 

"  I'll  get  you  a  portrait,"  said  the  old  lady,  and  she 
rose  and  left  the  room. 

The  girl  from  her  seat  in  the  window  by  the  gera- 
niums stitched  on  steadily.  The  skipper,  anxious  to 
appear  at  his  ease,  coughed  gently  three  times,  and 
was  on  the  very  verge  of  a  remark — about  the  weather 
— when  she  turned  her  head  and  became  absorbed  in 
something  outside.  The  skipper  fell  to  regarding  the 


34  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

clouds  again  with  even  more  disfavor  than  the  miss- 
ing captain  himself  could  have  shown. 

"  That  was  taken  just  before  he  disappeared,"  said 
the  old  lady,  entering  the  room  again  and  handing 
him  a  photograph.  "  You  can  keep  that." 

The  skipper  took  it  and  gazed  intently  at  the  like- 
ness  of  a  sturdy  full-bearded  man  of  about  sixty. 
Then  he  placed  it  carefully  in  his  breast-pocket  and 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"And  if  I  should  happen  to  drop  across  him,"  he 
said  slowly,  "  what  might  his  name  be  ?  " 

"  Gething,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  Captain  Gething. 
If  you  should  see  him,  and  would  tell  him  that  he 
has  nothing  to  fear,  and  that  his  wife  and  his  daughter 
Annis  are  dying  to  see  him,  you  will  have  done  what 
I  can  never,  never  properly  thank  you  for." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  the  other  warmly.  "  Good- 
afternoon." 

He  shook  hands  with  the  old  woman,  and  then, 
standing  with  his  hands  by  his  side,  looked  doubt- 
fully at  Annis. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  she  said  cheerfully. 

Mrs.  Gething  showed  him  to  the  door. 

44  Any  time  you  are  at  Gravesend,  captain,  we  shall 
be  pleased  to  see  you  and  hear  how  you  get  on,"  she 
said  as  she  let  him  out. 

The  captain  thanked  her,  pausing  at  the  gate  to 
glance  covertly  at  the  window ;  but  the  girl  was 
bending  over  her  work  again,  and  he  walked  away 
rapidly. 

Until  he  had  reached  his  ship  and  was  sitting  down 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  25 

to  his  belated  dinner  he  had  almost  forgotten,  in  the 
joyful  excitement  of  having  something  to  do  for  Miss 
Gething,  the  fact  that  she  was  engaged  to  another 
man.  As  he  remembered  this  he  pushed  his  plate 
from  him,  and,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand,  gave 
way  to  a  fit  of  deep  melancholy.  He  took  the  pho- 
tograph from  his  pocket,  and,  gazing  at  it  intently, 
tried  to  discover  a  likeness  between  the  father  and 
daughter.  There  was  not  sufficient  to  warrant  him 
in  bestowing  a  chaste  salute  upon  it. 

"  What  do  you  think  o'  that  ?"  he  inquired,  handing 
it  over  to  the  mate,  who  had  been  watching  him 
curiously. 

"  Any  friend  o*  yours  ?  "  inquired  the  mate,  cau- 
tiously. 

"  No,"  said  the  other. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  much  of  him,"  said  the  mate. 
*'  Where  d'you  get  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  given  to  me,"  said  the  skipper.  "  He's 
missing,  and  I've  got  to  find  him  if  I  can.  You 
might  as  well  keep  your  eyes  open  too." 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  look  for  him  ?"  asked 
the  mate. 

"  Everywhere,"  said  the  other.  "  I'm  told  that  he's 
likely  to  be  in  a  seaport  town,  and  if  you'll  be  on 
the  look-out  I'll  take  it  as  a  favor." 

"  I'll  do  that,  o'  course,"  said  the  mate.  "  What's 
he  been  doing?" 

"  Nothing  that  I  know  of,"  said  the  skipper;  "  but 
he's  been  missing  some  five  years,  and  I  promised 
I'd  do  my  best  to  find  him." 


26  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Friends  are  anxious,   I  s'pose  ?  "  said  the  mate. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  always  find/'  continued  the  mate,  "  that  women 
are  more  anxious  in  these  sort  o'  cases  than  men." 

"  More  tender-hearted,"  said  the  skipper. 

"  It  ain't  a  bad  sort  o*  face,  now  I  come  to  look  at 
it,"  said  the  baffled  mate,  regarding  it  closely. 
"  Seems  to  me  I've  seen  somebody  very  much  like 
it — a  girl,  I  think — but  I  can't  say  where." 

"  Bearded  lady  at  a  fair,  I  should  think,"  said  the 
skipper  bluffly. 

Conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance 
of  Henry,  who,  seeing  the  photograph  in  the  mate's 
hand,  at  once  began  putting  the  butter  away.  A 
glance  told  him  that  the  mate  was  holding  it  upside 
down,  and  conscience  told  him  that  this  was  for  his 
benefit.  He  therefore  rigidly  averted  his  gaze  while 
clearing  the  table,  and  in  a  small  mental  ledger,  which 
he  kept  with  scrupulous  care  for  items  such  as  these, 
made  a  debit  entry  in  the  mate's  account. 

"  Boy,"  said  the  skipper  suddenly. 

"  Sir,"  said  Henry. 

"  You're  a  fairly  sharp  youngster,  I  think,"  said  the 
skipper.  "Take  hold  o'  that  photo  there." 

Henry's  face  suffused  with  a  great  joy.  He  looked 
derisively  at  the  mate  and  took  the  photograph 
from  him,  listening  intently  to  much  the  same  instruc- 
tions as  had  been  previously  given  to  the  mate. 
"  And  you  can  take  it  for'ard,"  concluded  the  skip- 
per, "  and  let  the  men  see  it." 

"  The  men  ?"  said  Henry  in  astonishment. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  27 

0  Yes,  the  men  ;  don't  I  speak  plain? ''  retorted  the 
skipper. 

"  Very  plain,  sir,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  but  they'll  only 
make  a  muddle  of  it,  sir.  Fancy  fat  Sam  and  the 
cook  and  Dick  !  " 

"  Do  as  you're  told  !  "  said  the  other  irascibly. 

"  O'  course,  sir,"  said  Henry,  "  but  they'll  only 
worry  me  with  a  lot  o'  questions  as  to  who  'e  is  an' 
wot  you  want  'im  for." 

44  You  take  it  for'ard,"  said  the  skipper,  "and  tcl\ 
them  there's  a  couple  of  sovereigns  for  the  first  man 
that  finds  him." 

The  youth  took  the  photograph,  and  after  another 
careful  scrutiny,  with  the  object  of  getting  a  start  in 
the  race  for  wealth,  took  it  forward.  Fat  Sam,  it 
seemed,  had  seen  the  very  man  only  two  days  before 
at  Poplar ;  the  cook  knew  his  features  as  well  as  he 
knew  those  of  his  own  mother,  while  Dick  had  known 
him  for  years  as  an  old  and  respected  inhabitant 
of  Plymouth.  Henry  went  back  to  the  skipper, 
and,  having  furnished  him  with  this  information, 
meekly  suggested  that  they  should  drag  Gravesend 
first. 

It  was  midnight  when  they  got  the  anchor  up  and 
dropped  silently  down  the  river.  Gravesend  was 
silent,  and  the  dotted  lines  of  street  lamps  shone 
over  a  sleeping  town  as  the  Sea-mew  crept  softly  by. 

A  big  steamer  in  front  whistled  warningly  for  the 
pilot's  boat,  and  slowing  up  as  the  small  craft  shot 
out  from  the  shore  to  meet  it,  caused  a  timely  diver- 
sion to  the  skipper's  melancholy  by  lying  across  his 


a8  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

bows.  By  the  time  he  had  fully  recovered  from 
the  outrage  and  had  drunk  a  cup  of  coffee,  which 
had  been  prepared  in  the  galley,  Gravesend  had  dis- 
appeared round  the  bend,  and  his  voluntary  search 
had  commenced. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  29 


CHAPTER  III. 

THEY  made  Brittlesea  in  four  days — days  in  which 
the  skipper,  a  prey  to  gentle  melancholy,  left  things 
mostly  to  the  mate.  Whereupon  melancholia  be- 
came contagious,  and  Sam's  concertina  having  been 
impounded  by  the  energetic  mate,  disaffection  reared 
its  ugly  head  in  the  foc'sle  and  called  him  improper 
names  when  he  was  out  of  earshot. 

They  entered  the  small  river  on  which  stands  the 
ancient  town  of  Brittlesea  at  nightfall.  Business  for 
the  day  was  over.  A  few  fishermen,  pipe  in  mouth, 
lounged  upon  the  quay,  while  sounds  of  revelry, 
which  in  some  mysterious  way  reminded  the  crew 
of  their  mission  to  find  Captain  Gething,  proceeded 
from  the  open  doors  of  a  small  tavern  opposite. 
The  most  sanguine  of  them  hardly  expected  to 
find  him  the  first  time  ;  but,  as  Sam  said,  the  sooner 
they  started  the  better.  For  all  they  knew  he  might 
be  sitting  in  that  very  public-house  waiting  to  be 
found. 

They  went  ashore  a  little  later  and  looked  for  him 
there,  but  without  success.  All  they  did  find  was  a 
rather  hot-tempered  old  man,  who,  irritated  by  the 
searching  scrutiny  of  the  cook,  asked  him  shortly 
whether  he  had  lost  anything,  because,  if  so,  and  he, 


30  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

the  cook,  thought  he  was  sitting  on  it,  perhaps  he'd 
be  good  enough  to  say  so.  The  cook  having  replied 
in  fitting  terms,  they  moved  off  down  the  quay  to  the 
next  tavern.  Here  they  fared  no  better,  Dick  de« 
claring  that  the  beer  was  if  anything  worse  than  the 
other,  and  that  nobody  who  had  lived  in  the  place 
any  time  would  spend  his  money  there.  They  there- 
fore moved  on  once  more,  and  closing  time  came 
before  their  labors  were  half  completed. 

"  It's  quite  a  little  romans,"  said  Sam  thickly,  as 
he  was  pushed  outside  the  last  house  of  call,  and  a 
bolt  shot  desolately  behind  him.  "  Where  shall  we 
go  now  ?" 

"  Get  back  to  the  ship,"  said  Dick  ;  "  come  along." 

"  Not  'fore  I  foun'  'im,"  said  Sam  solemnly,  as  he 
drew  back  from  Dick's  detaining  hand. 

"  You  won't  find  him  to-night,  Sam,"  said  the  cook 
humorsomely. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Sam,  regarding  him  with  glassy 
eyes.  "  We  came  out  fin*  'im  !  " 

"  Cos  it's  dark,  for  one  thing,"  said  the  cook. 

Sam  laughed  scornfully. 

"  Come  on  ! "  said  Dick,  catching  him  by  the  arm 
again. 

"  I  come  out  fin'  cap'n,  cap'n — fin*  'im,"  said  Sam. 
"  I'm  not  goin'  back  'thout  'im." 

He  rolled  off  down  the  road,  and  the  two  men,  the 
simple  traditions  of  whose  lives  forbade  them  to 
leave  a  shipmate  when  in  that  condition,  followed 
him,  growling.  For  half  an  hour  they  walked  with 
him  through  the  silent  streets  of  the  little  town, 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  31 

Dick  with  difficulty  repressing  his  impatience  as  the 
stout  seaman  bent  down  at  intervals  and  thoroughly 
searched  doorsteps  and  other  likely  places  for  the 
missing  man.  Finally,  he  stopped  in  front  of  a 
small  house,  walked  on  a  little  way,  came  back,  and 
then,  as  though  he  had  suddenly  made  up  his  mind, 
walked  towards  it. 

"  Hold  him,  cook  ! "  shouted  Dick,  throwing  his 
arms  around  him. 

The  cook  flung  his  arms  round  Sam's  neck,  and 
the  two  men,  panting  fiercely,  dragged  him  away. 

"  Now  you  come  aboard,  you  old  fool ! "  said 
Dick,  losing  his  temper ;  "  we've  had  enough  o'  your 
games." 

"  Leg  go  !  "  said  Sam,  struggling. 

"  You  leave  that  knocker  alone,  then/'  said  Dick 
warningly. 

"  'E's  in  there  ! "  said  Sam,  nodding  wisely  at  the 
house. 

"  You  come  back,  you  old  fool !  "  repeated  Dick. 
"You  never  'ort  to  'ave  nothin'  stronger  than 
milk." 

"  'Ole  my  coat,  cookie  I "  said  Sam,  his  manner 
changing  suddenly  to  an  alarming  sternness. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Sam  ! "  said  the  cook  entreat- 
ingly. 

"  'Ole  my  coat  ! "  repeated  Sam,  eyeing  him 
haughtily. 

"  You  know  you  haven't  got  a  coat  on,"  said  the 
cook  appealingly.  "Can't  you  see  it's  a  jersey? 
You  ain't  so  far  gone  as  all  that." 


32  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Well,  'ole  me  while  I  take  it  off,"  said  Sam, 
sensibly. 

Against  his  better  sense  the  cook  steadied  the 
stout  seaman  while  he  proceeded  to  peel.  Dick 
v/aited  until  the  garment — a  very  tight  one — was 
over  his  head,  and  then,  pushing  the  cook  aside, 
took  his  victim  and  made  him  slowly  gyrate  on  the 
pavement. 

"  Turn  round  three  times  and  catch  who  you  can, 
Sam,"  he  said  cruelly.  "  Well,  sit  down,  then." 

He  lowered  him  to  the  pavement,  and,  accom- 
panied by  the  cook,  drew  off  and  left  him  to  his  fate. 
Their  last  glance  showed  them  a  stout,  able-bodied 
seaman,  with  his  head  and  arms  confined  in  a  jersey, 
going  through  contortions  of  an  extraordinary  nature 
to  free  himself,  and  indulging  in  language  which, 
even  when  filtered  by  the  garment  in  question,  was 
of  a  singularly  comprehensive  and  powerful  descrip- 
tion. He  freed  himself  at  last,  and  after  flinging 
the  garment  away  in  his  anger,  picked  it  up  again, 
and,  carrying  it  under  his  arm,  zigzagged  his  way 
back  to  the  ship. 

His  memory  when  he  awoke  next  morning  was 
not  quite  clear,  but  a  hazy  recollection  of  having 
been  insulted  led  him  to  treat  Dick  and  the  cook 
with  marked  coldness,  which  did  not  wear  off  until 
they  were  all  busy  on  deck.  Working  at  cement  is 
a  dry  job,  and,  after  hardening  his  heart  for  some 
time,  the  stout  seaman  allowed  the  cook  to  call  him 
to  the  galley  and  present  him  with  a  mug  of  cold 
coffee  left  from  the  cabin  table. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  33 

The  cook  washed  the  mug  up,  and,  preferring  the 
dusty  deck  to  the  heat  of  the  fire,  sat  down  to  wash 
a  bowl  of  potatoes.  It  was  a  task  which  lent  itself 
to  meditation,  and  his  thoughts,  as  he  looked  wist- 
fully  at  the  shore,  reverted  to  Captain  Gething  and 
the  best  means  of  finding  him.  It  was  clear  that  the 
photograph  was  an  important  factor  in  the  search, 
and,  possessed  with  a  new  idea,  he  left  the  potatoes 
and  went  down  to  the  cabin  in  search  of  it.  He 
found  it  on  a  shelf  in  the  skipper's  state-room,  and, 
passing  up  on  deck  again,  stepped  ashore. 

From  the  first  three  people  he  spoke  to  he  obtained 
no  information  whatever.  They  all  inspected  the 
photograph  curiously  and  indulged  in  comments, 
mostly  unfavorable,  but  all  agreed  that  there  was 
nobody  like  it  in  Brittlesea.  He  had  almost  given 
it  up  as  a  bad  job,  and  was  about  to  return,  when  he 
saw  an  aged  fisherman  reclining  against  a  post. 

"  Fine  day,  mate,"  said  the  cook. 

The  old  man  courteously  removed  a  short  clay 
pipe  from  his  puckered  mouth  in  order  to  nod,  and 
replacing  it,  resumed  his  glance  seaward. 

"  Ever  seen  anybody  like  that  ? "  inquired  the 
cook,  producing  the  portrait. 

The  old  man  patiently  removed  the  pipe  again, 
and  taking  the  portrait,  scanned  it  narrowly. 

"  It's  wonderful  how  they  get  these  things  up 
nowadays,"  he  said  in  a  quavering  voice  ;  "  there  was 
nothing  like  that  when  you  an'  me  was  boys." 

"  There  'as   been   improvements,"   admitted  the 
cook  indignantly. 
3 


34  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  All  oils  they  was,"  continued  the  old  man  medi- 
tatively, "  or  crains." 

"  'Ave  you  ever  seen  anybody  like  that  ? "  de- 
manded the  cook  impatiently. 

"  Why,  o'  course  I  have.  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  in 
a  minute,"  said  the  old  man  querelously.  "  Let  me 
see — what's  his  name  again  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  'is  name,"  said  the  cook  untruth- 
fully. 

"  I  should  know  it  if  I  was  to  hear  it,"  said  the  old 
man  slowly.  "  Ah,  I've  got  it !  I've  got  it !  " 

He  tapped  his  head  triumphantly,  and,  with  a 
bleared,  shining  old  eye,  winked  at  the  cook. 

"  My  memory's  as  good  as  ever  it  was,"  he  said 
complacently.  "  Sometimes  I  forget  things,  but 
they  come  back.  My  mother  used  to  be  the  same, 
and  she  lived  to  ninety-three." 

"  Lor  !  "  interrupted  the  anxious  cook.  "  What's 
the  name?" 

The  old  man  stopped.  "  Drat  it ! "  he  said,  with 
a  worried  look,  "  I've  lost  it  again  ;  but  it'll  come 
back." 

The  cook  waited  ten  minutes  for  the  prodigal. 
41  It  ain't  Gething,  I  s'pose  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  don't  you  be  in  a 
hurry  ;  it'll  come  back." 

"  When  ?  "  asked  the  cook  rebelliously. 

"  It  might  be  in  five  minutes'  time,  and  it  might 
be  in  a  month,"  said  the  old  man  firmly,  "but  it'll 
come  back." 

He   took  the    portrait   from   the   hands   of   the 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  35 

now  sulky  cook  and  strove  to  jog  his  memory 
with  it. 

"  John  Dunn's  his  name,"  he  cried  suddenly. 
u  John  Dunn." 

"  Where  does  *e  live?  "  inquired  the  cook  eagerly. 

"  Holebourne,"  said  the  old  man — "a  little  place 
seven  miles  off  the  road." 

"  Are  you  sure  it's  the  same,"  asked  the  cook  in  a 
trembling  voice. 

"  Sartain,"  said  the  other  firmly.  "  He  come  here 
first  about  six  years  ago,  an'  then  he  quarrelled  with 
his  landlord  and  went  off  to  Holebourne." 

The  cook,  with  a  flushed  face,  glanced  along  the 
quay  to  the  schooner.  Work  was  still  proceeding 
amid  a  cloud  of  white  dust,  and  so  far  his  absence 
appeared  to  have  passed  unnoticed. 

"  If  they  want  any  dinner,"  he  muttered,  alluding 
to  the  powdered  figures  at  work  on  the  schooner, 
"  they  must  get  it  for  theirselves,  that's  all.  Will 
you  come  and  'ave  a  drop,  old  man  ?  " 

The  old  man,  nothing  loath,  assented,  and  having 
tasted  of  the  cook's  bounty,  crawled  beside  him 
through  the  little  town  to  put  him  on  the  road  to 
Holebourne,  and  after  seeing  him  safe,  returned  to 
his  beloved  post. 

The  cook  went  along  whistling,  thinking  pleasantly 
of  the  discomfiture  of  the  other  members  of  the  crew 
when  they  should  discover  his  luck.  For  three  miles 
he  kept  on  sturdily,  until  a  small  signboard,  project- 
ing from  between  a  couple  of  tall  elms,  attracted  his 
attention  to  a  little  inn  just  off  the  road,  at  the  porch 


36  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

of  which  a  stout  landlord  sat  on  a  wooden  stool 
waiting  for  custom. 

The  cook  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  marching 
slowly  up,  took  a  stool  which  stood  opposite  and 
ordered  a  pint. 

The  landlord  rose  and  in  a  heavy,  leisurely  fashion, 
entered  the  house  to  execute  the  order,  and  returned 
carefully  bearing  a  foaming  mug. 

"  Take  the  top  off,"  said  the  cook  courteously. 

The  stout  man,  with  a  nod  towards  him,  complied. 

"  'Ave  a  pint  with  me,"  said  the  cook,  after  a  hasty 
glance  into  the  interior,  as  the  landlord  handed  him 
the  mug.  "  You  keep  that  one,"  he  added. 

The  stout  man  drew  another  pint,  and  subsiding 
on  to  his  stool  with  a  little  sigh,  disposed  himself  for 
conversation. 

"  Taking  a  country  walk  ?  "  he  inquired. 

The  cook  nodded.  "  Not  all  pleasure,"  he  said 
importantly  ;  "  I'm  on  business." 

"  Ah,  it's  you  fellows  what  make  all  the  money," 
said  the  landlord.  "  I've  only  drawn  these  two  pints 
this  morning.  Going  far  ?  " 

"  Holebourne,"  said  the  other. 

"  Know  anybody  there  ?  "  asked  the  landlord. 

"  Well,  not  exactly,"  said  the  cook  ;  "  I  carn't  say 
as  I  know  'im.  I'm  after  a  party  o'  the  name  o* 
Dunn." 

"  You  won't  get  much  out  of  him,"  said  the  land- 
lady,  who  had  just  joined  them.  "  He's  a  close  un, 
he  is." 

The  cook  closed  his  eyes  and  smiled  knowingly. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  37 

"  There's  a  mystery  about  that  man,"  said  the  land- 
lady. "  Nobody  knows  who  he  is  or  what  he  is,  and 
he  won't  tell  'em.  When  a  man's  like  that  you 
generally  know  there's  something  wrong — leastways 
I  do." 

"  Insulting,  he  is,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  cook,  "  'e  won't  insult  me !  " 

"  You  know  something  about  him  ? "  said  the 
landlady. 

"  A  little,"  said  the  cook. 

The  landlord  reached  over  to  his  wife,  who  bent 
her  ear  readily  and  dutifully  towards  him,  and  the 
cook  distinctly  caught  the  whispered  word  "  'tec." 

The  landlady,  after  a  curious  glance  at  the  cook, 
withdrew  to  serve  a  couple  of  wagoners  who  had 
drawn  up  at  the  door.  Conversation  became  gen- 
eral, and  it  was  evident  that  the  wagoners  shared 
the  sentiments  of  the  landlord  and  his  wife  with 
regard  to  Mr.  Dunn.  They  regarded  the  cook  with 
awe,  and  after  proffering  him  a  pint  with  respectful 
timidity,  offered  to  give  him  a  lift  to  Holebourne. 

"  I'd  sooner  go  on  my  own,"  said  the  cook,  with  a 
glance  at  the  wagons  ;  "  I  want  to  get  in  the  place 
quiet  like  and  'ave  a  look  round  before  I  do  any- 
thin'." 

He  sat  there  for  some  time  resting,  and  evading 
as  best  he  could  the  skilful  questions  of  the  land- 
lady. The  wagons  moved  off  first,  jolting  and 
creaking  their  way  to  Holebourne,  and  the  cook, 
after  making  a  modest  luncheon  of  bread  and  cheese 
and  smoking  a  pipe,  got  on  the  road  again. 


38  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"Look  how  he  walks!  "  said  the  landlord,  as  the 
couple  watched  him  up  the  road. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  his  wife. 

"  Like  a  bloodhound,"  said  the  landlord  impres- 
sively ;  "  just  watch  him.  I  knew  what  he  was 
directly  I  clapped  eyes  on  him." 

The  cook  continued  his  journey,  unconscious  of 
the  admiration  excited  by  his  movements.  He 
began  to  think  that  he  had  been  a  trifle  foolish  in 
talking  so  freely.  Still,  he  had  not  said  much,  and 
if  people  liked  to  make  mistakes,  why,  that  was 
their  business. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  entered  Holebourne,  a 
small  village  consisting  of  a  little  street,  an  inn,  and 
a  church.  At  the  end  of  the  street,  in  front  of  a  tidy 
little  cottage  with  a  well-kept  front  garden,  a  small 
knot  of  people  were  talking. 

"  Somethin'  on,"  said  the  cook  to  himself  as  he 
returned  with  interest  the  stares  of  the  villagers, 
"  Which  is  Mr.  Dunn's  house,  boy  ?  " 

"  There  it  is,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  pointing  to  the 
house  where  the  people  were  standing.     "  Are  you 
the  detective  ?  " 
-  "  No,"  said  the  cook  sharply. 

He  walked  across  to  the  house  and  opened  the 
little  garden  gate,  quite  a  little  hum  of  excitement 
following  him  as  he  walked  up  to  the  door  and 
knocked  upon  it  with  his  knuckles. 

"  Come  in,"  growled  a  deep  voice. 

The  cook  entered  and  carefully  closed  the  door 
behind  him.  He  found  himself  in  a  small  sitting- 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  39 

room,  the  only  occupant  of  which  was  an  old  man 
of  forbidding  aspect  sitting  in  an  easy  chair  with  a 
newspaper  open  in  his  hand. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  demanded,  looking  up. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  the  cook  nervously. 

"  I'm  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  the  other,  waiting. 

The  cook's  heart  sank,  for,  with  the  exception  of 
a  beard,  Mr.  Dunn  no  more  resembled  the  portrait 
than  he  did. 

"  I'm  Mr.  Dunn,"  repeated  the  old  man,  regarding 
him  ferociously  from  beneath  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 

The  cook  smiled,  but  faintly.  He  tried  to  think, 
but  the  old  man's  gaze  sent  all  the  ideas  out  of  his 
head. 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 

"  I  heard  you  were  looking  for  me,"  said  the  old 
man,  gradually  raising  his  voice  to  a  roar.  "  All  the 
village  knows  it,  I  think,  and  now  you've  found  me 
what  the  devil  is  it  you  want  ?  " 

"  I — I  think  there's  a  mistake,"  stammered  the 
cook. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Ha  !  is  there  ?  Pretty 
detective  you  are.  I'll  bring  an  action  against  you. 
I'll  have  you  imprisoned  and  dismissed  the  force." 

"  It's  all  a  mistake,"  said  the  cook ;  "  I'm  not  a 
detective." 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  the  old  man,  rising. 

The  cook  followed  him  into  a  smaller  room  at  the 
back. 

"You're  not  a  detective?"  said  the  old  man,  as 
he  motioned  him  to  a  seat.  "  I  suppose  you  know 


40  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

that  impersonating  a  detective  is  a  serious  offence? 
Just  stay  here  while  I  fetch  a  policeman,  will  you?  " 

The  cook  said  he  wouldn't. 

'*  Ah,"  said  the  old  man  with  a  savage  grin,  "  I 
think  you  will."  Then  he  went  to  the  door  and 
called  loudly  for  "  Roger." 

Before  the  dazed  cook  of  the  Seamew  could  collect 
his  scattered  senses  a  pattering  sounded  on  the  stairs, 
and  a  bulldog  came  unobtrusively  into  the  room.  It 
was  a  perfectly  bred  animal,  with  at  least  a  dozen 
points  about  it  calling  for  notice  and  admiration, 
but  all  that  the  cook  noticed  was  the  excellent 
preservation  of  its  teeth. 

"  Watch  him,  Roger,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  a 
hat  from  a  sideboard.  "  Don't  let  him  move." 

The  animal  growled  intelligently,  and  sitting  down 
a  yard  or  two  in  front  of  the  cook  watched  him  with 
much  interest. 

"I'm  sure  I'm  very  sorry,"  muttered  the  cook. 
"  Don't  go  away  and  leave  me  with  this  dog,  sir." 

"  He  won't  touch  you  unless  you  move,"  said  the 
old  man. 

The  cook's  head  swam  ;  he  felt  vaguely  round  for 
a  subtle  compliment.  "  I'd  rather  you  stayed,"  he 
quavered,  "  I  would  indeed.  I  don't  know  any  man 
I've  took  a  greater  fancy  to  at  first  sight." 

"  I  don't  want  any  of  your  confounded  insolence," 
said  the  other  sternly.  "  Watch  him,  Roger." 

Roger  growled  with  all  the  cheerfulness  of  a  dog 
who  had  found  a  job  which  suited  him,  and  his 
owner,  after  again  warning  the  cook  of  what  would 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  41 

happen  if  he  moved  out  of  the  chair,  left  the  room, 
shutting  the  door  as  he  went.  The  cook  heard  the 
front  door  close  behind  him,  and  then  all  was  silence, 
except  for  the  strong  breathing  of  Roger. 

For  some  time  the  man  and  dog  sat  eyeing  each 
other  in  silence,  then  the  former,  moistening  his  dry 
lips  with  his  tongue,  gave  a  conciliatory  chirrup. 
Roger  responded  with  a  deep  growl,  and,  rising  to 
his  feet,  yawned  expressively. 

"  Poor  Roger !  "  said  the  cook  in  trembling  ac- 
cents, "  poor  old  Rogy-wogy  !  Good  old  dog  !  " 

The  good  old  dog  came  a  little  nearer  and  closely 
inspected  the  cook's  legs,  which  were  knocking 
together  with  fright. 

"  Cats !  "  said  the  cook,  pointing  to  the  door  as 
an  idea  occurred  to  him.  "  S-cat !  Seize  'em,  dog  ! 
seize  'em ! '' 

"  G-w-r-r,"  said  Roger  menacingly.  The  quiver- 
ing  limbs  had  a  strange  fascination  for  him,  and 
coming  closer  he  sniffed  at  them  loudly. 

In  a  perfect  panic  the  cook,  after  glancing  helplessly 
at  the  poker,  put  his  hand  gently  behind  him  and 
drew  his  sheath-knife.  Then,  with  a  courage  born 
of  fear,  he  struck  the  dog  suddenly  in  the  body,  and 
before  it  could  recover  from  the  suddenness  of  the 
attack,  withdrew  his  knife  and  plunged  it  in  again. 
The  dog  gave  a  choking  growl  and,  game  to  the  last, 
made  a  grab  at  the  cook's  leg,  and  missing  it,  rolled 
over  on  the  floor,  giving  a  faint  kick  or  two  as  the 
breath  left  its  body. 

It  had  all  happened  so   quickly   that   the   cook, 


4*  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

mechanically  wiping  his  blade  on  the  tablecloth, 
hardly  realized  the  foulness  of  the  crime  of  which 
he  had  been  guilty,  but  felt  inclined  to  congratulate 
himself  upon  his  desperate  bravery.  Then  as  he 
realized  that,  in  addition  to  the  offence  for  which 
the  choleric  Mr.  Dunn  was  even  now  seeking  the  aid 
of  the  law,  there  was  a  dead  bulldog  and  a  spoiled 
carpet  to  answer  for,  he  resolved  upon  an  immediate 
departure.  He  made  his  way  to  the  back  door,  and 
sheathing  his  knife,  crept  stealthily  down  the  garden, 
and  clambered  over  the  fence  at  the  bottom.  Then, 
with  his  back  to  the  scene  of  the  murder,  he  put  up 
his  hands  and  ran. 

He  crossed  two  fields  and  got  on  to  a  road,  his 
breath  coming  painfully  as  he  toiled  along  with  an 
occasional  glance  behind  him.  It  was  uphill,  but  he 
kept  on  until  he  had  gained  the  top,  and  then  he 
threw  himself  down  panting  by  the  side  of  the  road 
with  his  face  turned  in  the  direction  of  Holebourne. 
Five  minutes  later  he  started  up  again  and  resumed 
his  flight,  as  several  figures  burst  into  the  road  from 
the  village  in  hot  pursuit. 

For  a  little  while  he  kept  to  the  road,  then,  as  the 
idea  occurred  to  him  that  some  of  his  pursuers  might 
use  a  vehicle,  he  broke  through  the  hedge  and  took 
to  the  fields.  His  legs  gave  way  beneath  him,  and 
he  stumbled  rather  than  ran,  but  he  kept  on  alter, 
nately  walking  and  running  until  all  signs  of  the  pur- 
suit had  ceased. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  43 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SAFE  for  the  time  being,  but  with  the  memory  of 
his  offences  pursuing  him,  the  cook  first  washed 
his  face  and  hands  in  a  trough,  and  next  removed  the 
stains  of  the  crime  from  his  knife.  He  then  pushed 
on  again  rapidly  until  he  struck  another  road,  and 
begging  a  lift  from  a  passing  wagon,  lay  full  length 
on  top  of  a  load  of  straw  and  nervously  scanned  the 
landscape  as  they  travelled.  Half  a  dozen  miles 
farther  on  the  wagon  halted  before  a  comfortable 
farmhouse,  and  the  cook,  after  bestowing  on  the  car- 
ter  two  of  the  few  coins  left  him,  went  his  way,  los- 
ing himself,  with  a  view  to  baffling  pursuit,  among 
a  maze  of  small  lanes,  turning  right  or  left  as  the 
fancy  took  him,  until  nightfall  found  him  tired  and 
famished  on  the  outskirts  of  a  small  village. 

Conscious  of  the  power  of  the  telegraph,  which  he 
had  no  doubt  was  interesting  itself  in  his  behalf  over 
the  surrounding  districts,  he  skulked  behind  a  hedge 
until  the  lights  went  from  the  ground  floor  to  the 
first  floor  of  the  cottages  and  then  went  out  alto- 
gether. He  then,  with  the  utmost  caution,  looked 
round  in  search  of  shelter.  He  came  at  last  to  two 
cottages  standing  by  themselves  about  half  a  mile 
beyond  the  village,  one  of  which  had  a  wooden  sheA 


44  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

in  the  garden  which  seemed  to  offer  the  very  shel- 
ter he  required.  Satisfied  that  the  inmates  of  the 
cottage  were  all  abed  he  entered  the  garden,  and, 
treading  on  tiptoe,  walked  towards  the  shed,  fumbled 
at  the  hasp  and  opened  the  door.  It  was  pitch  dark 
within  and  silent,  till  something  rustled  uneasily. 
There  was  a  note  of  alarm  and  indignation.  The 
cook  tripped  on  a  stone,  and  only  saved  himself  from 
falling  by  clutching  at  a  perch  which  a  dozen  fowls 
instantly  vacated  with  loud  and  frenzied  appeals  for 
assistance.  Immediately  the  shed  was  full  of  flapping 
wings  and  agitated  hens  darting  wildly  between  his 
legs  as  he  made  for  the  door  again,  only  to  run  into 
the  arms  of  a  man  who  came  from  the  cottage. 

"  I've  got  him,  Poll !  "  shouted  the  latter,  as  he 
dealt  the  cook  a  blow  with  a  stick.  "  I've  got  him  !  " 

He  fetched  him  another  blow  and  was  preparing, 
for  a  third,  when  the  cook,  maddened  with  the  pain, 
struck  at  him  wildly  and  sent  him  sprawling.  He 
was  up  again  in  an  instant  and,  aided  by  his  wife, 
who  had  stopped  to  make  a  slight  concession  to  ap- 
pearances in  the  shape  of  a  flannel  petticoat,  threw 
the  cook  down  and  knelt  on  him.  A  man  came  out 
from  the  adjoining  cottage,  and  having,  with  great 
presence  of  mind,  first  found  a  vacant  spot  on  the 
cook  and  knelt  on  it,  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  After  my  hens,"  said  the  first  man  breathlessly. 
"I  just  heard  'em  in  time." 

"  I  wasn't  after  your  hens.  I  didn't  know  they 
was  there !  "  gasped  the  cook. 

"  Lock  him  up  ! "  said  the  second  man  warmly. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  45 

"  I'm  goin'  to,"  said  the  other.  "  Keep  still,  you 
thief!" 

"  Get  up  ! "  said  the  cook  faintly  ;  "  you're  killin' 
me." 

"  Take  him  in  the  house  and  tie  him  up  for  the 
night,  and  we'll  take  him  to  Winton  police  station 
in  the  morning,"  said  the  neighbor.  "  He's  a  des- 
perate character." 

As  they  declined  to  trust  the  cook  to  walk,  he  was 
carried  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  woman,  leaving 
him  for  a  moment,  struck  a  match  and  hastily  lit  a 
candle.  She  then  opened  a  drawer  and,  to  the  cook's 
horror,  began  pulling  out  about  twenty  fathoms  of 
clothes-line. 

"  The  best  way  and  the  safest  is  to  tie  him  in  a 
chair,"  said  the  neighbor.  "  I  remember  my  gran'- 
father  used  to  tell  a  tale  of  how  they  served  a  high- 
wayman that  way  once." 

"  That  would  be  best,  I  think,"  said  the  woman 
pondering.  "  He'd  be  more  comfortable  in  a  chair, 
though  I'm  sure  he  don't  deserve  it." 

They  raised  the  exhausted  cook,  and  placing  him 
in  a  stout  oak  chair,  lashed  him  to  it  until  he  could 
scarcely  breathe. 

"  After  my  gran'father  had  tied  the  highwayman 
in  the  chair,  he  gave  him  a  crack  on  the  head  with 
a  stick,"  said  the  neighbor,  regarding  the  cook 
thoughtfully. 

"  They  was  very  brutal  in  those  times,"  said  the 
cook,  before  anybody  else  could  speak. 

"Just  to  keep   him  quiet  like,"  said  the  neigh- 


46  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

bor,  somewhat  chilled  by  the  silence  of  the  other 
two. 

"  I  think  he'll  do  as  he  is,"  said  the  owner  of  the 
fowls,  carefully  feeling  the  prisoner's  bonds.  "  If 
you'll  come  in  in  the  morning,  Pettit,  we'll  borrow  a 
cart  an'  take  him  over  to  Winton.  I  expect  there's 
a  lot  of  things  against  him." 

"  I  expect  there  is,"  said  Pettit,  as  the  cook 
shuddered.  "  Well,  good-night." 

He  returned  to  his  house,  and  the  couple,  after 
carefully  inspecting  the  cook  again,  and  warning  him 
of  the  consequences  if  he  moved,  blew  out  the  candle 
and  returned  to  their  interrupted  slumbers. 

For  a  long  time  the  unfortunate  cook  sat  in  a  state 
of  dreary  apathy,  wondering  vaguely  at  the  ease  with 
which  he  had  passed  from  crime  to  crime,  and  trying 
to  estimate  how  much  he  should  get  for  each.  A 
cricket  sang  from  the  hearthstone,  and  a  mouse 
squeaked  upon  the  floor.  Worn  out  with  fatigue 
and  trouble,  he  at  length  fell  asleep. 

He  awoke  suddenly  and  tried  to  leap  out  of  his 
bunk  on  to  the  floor  and  hop  on  one  leg  as  a  specific 
for  the  cramp.  Then,  as  he  realized  his  position, 
he  strove  madly  to  rise  and  straighten  the  afflicted 
limb.  He  was  so  far  successful  that  he  managed 
to  stand,  and  in  the  fantastic  appearance  of  a  human 
snail,  to  shuffle  slowly  round  the  kitchen.  At  first 
he  thought  only  of  the  cramp,  but  after  that  had 
yielded  to  treatment  a  wild  idea  of  escape  occurred 
to  him.  Still  bowed  with  the  chair,  he  made  his 
way  to  the  door,  and,  after  two  or  three  attempts, 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  47 

got  the  latch  in  his  mouth  and  opened  it.  Within 
five  minutes  he  had  shuffled  his  way  through  the 
garden  gate,  which  was  fortunately  open,  and  reached 
the  road. 

The  exertion  was  so  laborious  that  he  sat  down 
again  upon  his  portable  seat  and  reckoned  up  his 
chances.  Fear  lent  him  wings,  though  of  a  very  ele- 
mentary type,  and  as  soon  as  he  judged  he  was  out 
of  earshot  he  backed  up  against  a  tree  and  vigorously 
banged  the  chair  against  it. 

He  shed  one  cracked  hind  leg  in  this  way,  and  the 
next  time  he  sat  down  had  to  perform  feats  of  bal- 
ancing not  unworthy  of  Blondin  himself. 

Until  day  broke  did  this  persecuted  man  toil  pain« 
fully  along  with  the  chair,  and  the  sun  rose  and  found 
him  sitting  carefully  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  faintly 
anathematizing  Captain  Gething  and  everything  con* 
nected  with  him.  He  was  startled  by  the  sound  of 
footsteps  rapidly  approaching  him,  and,  being  unable 
to  turn  his  head,  he  rose  painfully  to  his  feet  and 
faced  about  bodily. 

The  new-comer  stopped  abruptly,  and,  gazing  in 
astonishment  at  the  extraordinary  combination  of 
man  and  chair  before  him,  retired  a  few  paces  in  dis- 
order. At  a  little  distance  he  had  mistaken  the  cook 
for  a  lover  of  nature,  communing  with  it  at  his  ease  ; 
now  he  was  undecided  whether  it  was  a  monstrosity 
or  an  apparition. 

"  Mornin',  mate,"  said  the  cook  in  a  weary 
voice. 

"  Morning,"  said  the  man,  backing  still  more. 


48  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  I  'spose,"  said  the  cook,  trying  to  smile  cheerfully, 
"you're  surprised  to  see  me  like  this?" 

"  I've  never  seen  anything  like  it  afore,"  said  the 
man  guardedly. 

"  I  don't  s'pose  you  'ave,"  said  the  cook.  "I'm  the 
only  man  in  England  that  can  do  it." 

The  man  said  he  could  quite  believe  it. 

"  I'm  doin'  it  for  a  bet,"  said  the  cook. 

"  Oh-h,"  said  the  man,  his  countenance  clearing, 
"a  bet.  I  thought  you  were  mad.  How  much  is 
it?" 

"  Fifty  pounds,"  said  the  cook.  "I've  come  all  the 
way  from  London  like  this." 

"  Well,  I'm  blest !  "  said  the  man.  "  What  won't 
they  think  of  next !  Got  much  farther  to  go  ?  " 

"  Oakville,"  said  the  cook,  mentioning  a  place  he 
had  heard  of  in  his  wanderings.  "  At  least  I  was, 
but  I  find  it's  too  much  for  me.  Would  you  mind 
doing  me  the  favor  of  cutting  this  line?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  other  reproachfully,  "  don't  give 
up  now.  Why,  it's  only  another  seventeen  miles." 

"  I  must  give  it  up,"  said  the  cook,  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  Don't  be  beat,"  said  the  man  warmly.  "  Keep 
your  'art  up,  and  you'll  be  as  pleased  as  Punch 
presently  to  think  how  near  you  was  losing." 

"  Cut  it  off,"  said  the  cook,  trembling  with  im- 
patience; "I've  earned  forty  pounds  of  it  by  com- 
ing so  far.  If  you  cut  it  off  I'll  send  you  ten  of  it." 

The  man  hesitated  while  an  inborn  love  of  sport 
struggled  with  his  greed. 

"  I've  got  a  wife  and  family,"  he  said  at  last  in 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  49 

extenuation,  and  taking  out  a  clasp-knife,  steadied 
the  cook  with  one  hand  while  he  severed  his  bonds 
with  the  other. 

"  God  bless  you,  mate !  "  said  the  cook,  trying  to 
straighten  his  bowed  back  as  the  chair  fell  to  the 
ground. 

"  My  name's  Jack  Thompso'n,"  said  his  benefactor. 
"  Jack  Thompson,  Winchgate,  '11  find  me." 

"  I'll  make  it  twelve  pounds,"  said  the  grateful 
cook,  "  and  you  can  have  the  chair." 

He  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and,  freed  from  his 
burden,  stepped  out  on  his  return  journey,  while  his 
innocent  accomplice,  shouldering  the  chair,  went 
back  to  learn  from  the  rightful  owner  a  few  hard 
truths  about  his  mental  capacity. 

Not  knowing  how  much  start  he  would  have,  the 
cook,  despite  his  hunger  and  fatigue,  pushed  on  with 
all  the  speed  of  which  he  was  capable.  After  an 
hour's  journey  he  ventured  to  ask  the  direction  of 
an  embryo  ploughman,  and  wheedled  out  of  him  a 
small,  a  very  small,  portion  of  his  breakfast.  From 
the  top  of  the  next  hill  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
sea,  and  taking  care  to  keep  this  friend  of  his  youth 
in  sight,  felt  his  way  along  by  it  to  Brittlesea.  At 
midday  he  begged  some  broken  victuals  from  a 
gamekeeper's  cottage,  and  with  renewed  vigor  re- 
sumed his  journey,  and  at  ten  o'clock  that  night 
staggered  on  to  Brittlesea  quay  and  made  his  way 
cautiously  to  the  ship.  There  was  nobody  on  deck, 
but  a  light  burned  in  the  foc'sle,  and  after  a  careful 
peep  below  he  descended.  Henry,  who  was  playing, 
4 


50  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

a  losing  game  of  draughts  with  Sam,  looked  up  with  a 
start,  and  overturned  the  board. 

"  Lord  love  us,  cookie ! "  said  Sam,  "  where  'ave 
you  been?" 

The  cook  straightened  up,  smiling  faintly,  and  gave 
a  wave  of  his  hand  which  took  in  all  the  points  of  the 
compass.  "  Everywhere,"  he  said  wearily. 

"  You've  been  on  the  spree,"  said  Sam,  regarding 
him  severely. 

"  Spree  !  "  said  the  cook  with  expression.  "Spree  !  " 

His  feelings  choked  him,  and  after  a  feeble  attempt 
to  translate  them  into  words,  he  abandoned  the 
attempt,  and  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  Sam's  appeal  for 
information,  rolled  into  his  bunk  and  fell  fast  asleep* 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  51 


CHAPTER  V. 

THEY  got  under  way  at  four  o'clock  next  morn- 
ing, and  woke  the  cook  up  to  assist  at  3.30.  At  3.45 
they  woke  him  again,  and  at  3.50  dragged  him  from 
his  bunk  and  tried  to  arouse  him  to  a  sense  of  his 
duties.  The  cook,  with  his  eyes  still  closed,  crawled 
back  again  the  moment  they  left  him,  and  though 
they  had  him  out  twice  after  that,  he  went  back  in, 
the  same  somnambulistic  state  and  resumed  his 
slumbers. 

Brittlesea  was  thirty  miles  astern  when  he  at 
length  awoke  and  went  on  deck,  and  the  schooner 
was  scudding  along  under  a  stiff  breeze.  It  was  a 
breeze  such  as  the  mate  loved,  and  his  face  was 
serene  and  peaceful  until  his  gaze  fell  upon  the 
shrinking  figure  of  the  cook  as  it  glided  softly  into 
the  galley. 

"  Cook,"  he  roared,  "  come  here,  you  skulking 
rascal!  Where've  you  been  all  this  time?" 

"  I've  been  in  trouble,  sir,"  said  the  cook  humbly ; 
"you'll  'ardly  believe  the  trouble  I've  been  in 
through  trying  to  do  the  skipper  a  kindness." 

"  Don't  you  come  none  of  that  with  me,"  roared 
the  mate  warningly.  "  Where've  you  been  ?  Come, 
out  with  it  1 " 


52  THF  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

The  cook,  still  somewhat  weak  from  his  adven- 
tures,  leaned  against  the  companion,  and  with  much 
dramatic  gesture  began  his  story.  As  it  proceeded 
the  mate's  breath  came  thick  and  fast,  his  color 
rose,  and  he  became  erratic  in  his  steering.  Flat- 
tered by  these  symptoms  of  concern,  the  cook  con- 
tinued. 

"  That'll  do,"  said  the  mate  at  last. 

"  I  ain't  got  to  the  worst  of  it  yet,  sir,"  said  the 
cook. 

"  If  you  stand  there  lying  to  me  for  another  mo- 
ment I'll  break  your  neck,"  said  the  mate  violently., 
"  You've  had  two  days  on  the  drink,  that's  what 
you've  had." 

"  It's  gawspel  truth,  sir,"  said  the  cook  solemnly. 

"  You  wait  till  the  skipper  turns  out,"  said  the 
other,  shaking  his  fist  at  him.  "  If  it  wasn't  for 
leaving  the  wheel  I'd  set  about  you  myself,  my  lad." 

To  the  cook's  indignation  the  skipper  shared  the 
opinions  of  the  mate  concerning  his  story,  and  in  a 
most  abrupt  and  unfeeling  fashion  stopped  two  days' 
pay.  Down  in  the  foc'sle  he  fared  no  better,  the 
crew's  honest  tribute  of  amazement  to  his  powers  of 
untruthful  narrative  passing  all  bounds  of  decorum. 

Their  incredulity  was  a  source  of  great  grief  to  him. 
He  had  pictured  himself  posing  as  a  daredevil,  and 
he  went  about  his  duties  with  a  chastened  mien,  mis- 
taken  by  the  men,  experts  in  such  matters,  for  the 
reaction  after  a  drinking  bout. 

They  passed  Northfleet  on  their  way  up  to  Rother- 
hithe,  where  they  went  to  discharge  a  small  general 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  53 

cargo,  the  cook's  behavior  every  time  a  police- 
boat  passed  them  coming  in  for  much  scornful 
censure.  It  was  some  hours  before  he  would  go 
ashore,  and  when  at  last  he  did  venture,  it  was  with 
the  reckless  air  of  a  Robert  Macaire  and  a  Dick 
Turpin  rolled  into  one. 

It  was  a  damp,  cheerless  morning  when  they  got 
to  Northfleet  again.  It  had  been  raining  heavily 
in  the  night,  and  black  clouds  still  hung  low  over 
the  river.  They  were  not  to  load  until  the  next 
day,  and  after  dinner  Henry  and  the  mate  ex- 
changed a  sympathetic  smile  as  the  skipper  took 
up  his  cap  and  went  ashore. 

He  walked  into  Gravesend,  and  taking  no  notice 
of  the  rain,  which  was  falling  steadily,  strolled  idly 
about  looking  into  the  shop  windows.  He  had  a 
romantic  idea  that  he  might  meet  Annis  Gething 
there.  It  was  half-holiday  at  the  school,  and  it 
was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  she 
should  be  sauntering  about  Gravesend  in  the  pouring 
rain.  At  about  four  o'clock,  being  fairly  wet  through, 
he  saw  the  fallacy  of  the  idea  strongly,  and  in  a 
disconsolate  fashion,  after  one  glass  at  a  convenient 
tavern,  turned  to  go  back  to  the  ship.  A  little  way 
along  the  road  he  stepped  aside  to  allow  a  girl  to 
pass,  glancing — by  mere  force  of  habit — beneath  her 
umbrella  as  he  did  so.  Then  he  started  back  guiltily 
as  his  eyes  met  those  of  Miss  Gething.  She  half 
stopped. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  said  the  skipper  awkwardly. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  said  she. 


54  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Nasty  weather,"  said  the  skipper,  standing  re- 
spectfully three  yards  off. 

"  Wretched,"  said  Miss  Gething.     "  Ugh  !  " 

"  I  don't  mind  it  much  myself,"  said  the  skipper. 

"  You  must  be  very  wet,"  said  Miss  Gething. 
"  You  are  going  to  see  mother,  I  suppose?" 

"  I  did  think  of  doing  so,"  said  the  skipper  with 
joyous  untruthfulness. 

"  I'm  going  to  do  a  little  shopping,1'  said  she. 
"  Good-bye." 

She  nodded  brightly,  and  the  skipper,  raising  his 
cap,  turned  on  his  heel  and  set  off  to  pay  the  call. 
He  turned  his  head  several  times  as  he  went,  but 
Miss  Gething,  who  knew  more  of  men  than  the 
skipper  knew  of  women,  did  not  turn  hers. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  brisk  walk  brought  him  to 
the  house,  and  he  shook  the  rain  from  his  cap  as  he 
knocked  gently  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by  a 
man,  who,  standing  with  his  hand  on  the  lock 
regarded  him  inquiringly. 

"  Mrs.  Gething  in  ?  "  asked  the  skipper. 

"  No,  she's  not  just  at  present,"  said  the  other. 

"  I'll  come  in  and  wait  for  her  if  you  don't 
mind,"  said  the  skipper,  speaking  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment. 

The  other  hesitated,  and  then  standing  aside  to 
allow  him  to  pass,  closed  the  door,  and  they  entered 
the  small  parlor  together.  The  skipper,  with  a 
courage  which  surprised  himself,  took  a  chair  un- 
invited and  began  to  wipe  his  trousers  with  his 
handkerchief. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  55 

"I'm  afraid  Mrs.  Gething  will  be  along  time,"  said 
the  other  man  at  last. 

"  I'll  give  her  a  few  minutes,"  said  the  skipper,  who 
would  have  sat  there  a  week  with  pleasure. 

He  rubbed  his  moustache  and  beard  with  his 
handkerchief  and  put  them  into  shape  with  his 
fingers.  The  other  man  regarded  these  operations 
with  an  unfavorable  eye,  and  watched  him  uneasily. 

"  No  message  you  could  leave  for  Mrs.  Gething," 
he  suggested,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  skipper  shook  his  head,  and  in  his  turn  took 
stock  of  the  other  man — a  good-looking  fellow  with 
a  waxed  black  moustache,  a  light  silk  tie  and  a 
massive  scarf-pin.  A  frock-coat  hung  about  his  knees, 
and  shoes  of  the  lightest  brown  called  attention  to 
his  small  feet. 

Another  quarter  of  an  hour  passed.  "  Wet  day," 
said  the  skipper,  by  way  of  starting  the  conversation 
again. 

The  other  assented,  and  remarked  that  he  thought 
it  very  probable  that  the  wet  would  prevent  Mrs. 
Gething  from  returning,  whereupon  conversation 
languished  until  the  sound  of  hurried  footsteps  out- 
side, and  the  turning  of  a  key  in  the  latch,  made 
them  both  look  up. 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  the  skipper  softly. 

The  other  man  said  nothing,  feeling  possibly  that 
the  entrance  of  Miss  Gething  was  sufficient  refutation 
of  the  statement.  He  was  also  in  anything  but  a 
talkative  mood. 

"  Mother  not  in  ?  "  said  Miss  Gething  in  surprise  as 


56  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

she  entered  the  room.  "  How  good  of  you  to  wait, 
captain." 

"  Oh,  it's  no  trouble,"  said  the  skipper,  who  really 
thought  that  there  was  no  credit  due  to  him  for  his 
action. 

She  shook  hands  with  the  other  man  and  smiled 
at  the  skipper.  "  I've  seen  you  before,"  she  said, 
"  and  it  is  good  of  you  to  wait.  I'm  sure  you're  very 
wet.  This  is  Mr.  Glover,  Captain  Wilson." 

The  two  gentlemen  glared  their  acknowledgments, 
and  the  skipper,  with  a  sinking  at  his  heart,  began 
to  feel  in  the  way.  Miss  Gething,  after  going  out- 
side to  remove  her  hat  and  jacket,  came  in  smiling 
pleasantly,  and  conversation  became  general,  the 
two  men  using  her  as  a  sort  of  human  telephone 
through  which  to  transmit  scanty  ideas. 

"  Half-past  five,"  said  Miss  Gething  suddenly. 
"  Have  you  got  to  catch  the  6.30  train,  Mr.  Glover  ?  " 

"  Must,"  said  Mr.  Glover  dismally.  "  Business, 
you  know,"  he  added  resignedly. 

"You'll  take  a  cup  of  tea  before  you  go?"  said 
Annis. 

She  was  standing  before  Mr.  Glover  as  she  spoke, 
and  the  skipper,  who  had  been  feeling  more  and 
more  in  the  way,  rose  and  murmured  that  he  must 
go.  His  amazement  when  Miss  Gething  twisted 
her  pretty  face  into  a  warning  scowl  and  shook  her 
head  at  him,  was  so  great  that  Mr.  Glover  turned 
suddenly  to  see  the  cause  of  it. 

"  You'll  take  a  cup,  too,  captain  ? "  said  Miss 
Gething  with  a  polite  smile. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  57 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  skipper,  resuming  his  seat. 
His  ideas  were  in  a  whirl,  and  he  sat  silent  as  the 
girl  deftly  set  the  tea-table  and  took  her  seat  before 
the  tray. 

"  Quite  a  tea-party,"  she  said  brightly.  "  One 
piece  of  sugar,  Mr.  Glover?" 

"  Two,"  said  the  gentleman  in  an  injured  voice. 

She  looked  inquiringly  at  the  skipper  with  the 
sugar-tongs  poised. 

"  I'll  leave  it  to  you,"  said  he  confusedly.  Mr. 
Glover  smiled  contemptuously,  and  raised  his  eye- 
brows a  little.  Miss  Gething  dropped  in  one  piece 
and  handed  him  the  cup. 

"  Sometimes  I  take  one  piece,  sometimes  two  or 
three,"  said  the  skipper,  trying  to  explain  away  his 
foolishness.  "  I'm  not  particular." 

"  You  must  be  of  an  easy-going  nature,"  said  Miss 
Gething  indulgently. 

"  Don't  know  his  own  mind,  I  should  think,"  said 
Mr.  Glover  rudely. 

"  I  know  it  about  other  things,"  said  the  skipper. 

The  tone  in  which  this  remark  was  made  set  Mr. 
Glover  wondering  darkly  what  the  other  things  were. 
Neither  man  was  disposed  to  be  talkative,  and  tea 
would  have  proceeded  in  sombre  silence  but  for  the 
hostess.  At  ten  minutes  past  six  Mr.  Glover  rose 
and  with  great  unwillingness  said  he  must  go. 

"  It  isn't  raining  much  now,"  said  Miss  Gething 
encouragingly.  Mr.  Glover  went  to  the  hall,  and 
taking  his  hat  and  umbrella,  shook  hands  with  her. 
Then  he  came  to  the  door  again,  and  looked  at  the 


58  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

skipper.  "  Going  my  way  ?  "  he  inquired  with  great 
affability,  considering. 

"  Er — no,"  said  the  other. 

Mr.  Glover  put  on  his  hat  with  a  bang,  and  with 
a  curt  nod  followed  Miss  Gething  to  the  door  and 
departed. 

"  I  think  he'll  catch  the  train  all  right,"  said  the 
skipper,  as  Miss  Gething  watched  his  feverish  haste 
from  the  window. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  she. 

"  I'm  sorry  your  mother  wasn't  in,"  said  the 
skipper,  breaking  a  long  pause. 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  dull  for  you,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
the  girl. 

The  skipper  sighed  wearily  and  wondered  whether 
Mr.  Glover  was  such  an  adept  at  silly  remarks  as  he 
appeared  to  be. 

"  Has  he  got  far  to  go  ?  "  he  inquired,  referring  to 
Mr.  Glover. 

"  London, "said  Annis  briefly. 

She  stood  at  the  window  for  some  time,  gazing  up 
the  road  with  what  appeared  to  be  an  expression  of 
anxious  solicitude. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  be  going,"  said  the  skip, 
per,  who  thought  he  ought  not  to  stay  any  longer. 

Annis  stood  aside  as  he  rose,  and  followed  him 
slowly  to  the  hall. 

"  I  wish  we  had  an  umbrella  to  lend  you,"  she 
said,  looking  round. 

"  Oh,  that'll  be  all  right,"  said  the  skipper.  "  I'm 
nearly  dry  now." 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  59 

"  Dry  ?  "  said  Annis.  She  put  her  little  hand  on 
his  coat-sleeve. 

"  Oh,  you're  soaking,"  she  said  in  dismay.  "  The 
idea  of  me  letting  you  sit  about  in  that  state !  " 

"  That  sleeve  is  the  worst,"  said  the  skipper, 
whom  circumstances  had  made  artful.  "  It's  all 
right  here." 

He  brushed  his  hand  down  his  coat. 

"  That's  a  good  thing,"  said  Annis  politely. 

"  Urn,  but  not  here,"  said  the  skipper,  squeezing 
the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

Annis  touched  his  coat  lightly. 

"  You're  very  wet,"  she  said  severely  ;  "  you  ought 
not  to  sit  about  in  such  things.  Wait  a  moment. 
I'll  get  you  a  great-coat  of  my  father's." 

She  sped  lightly  up  the  stairs,  and  returning  with 
a  long,  heavy  coat,  held  it  out  to  him. 

"  That'll  keep  you  dry,"  she  remarked  as  the 
skipper,  after  a  few  slight  remonstrances,  began  to 
put  it  on.  She  held  the  other  sleeve  up  for  him 
and  watched,  with  the  satisfaction  of  a  philanthrop- 
ist, as  he  buttoned  it  up.  Then  she  opened  the 
door. 

"You'll  give  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Gething?  "  said 
the  skipper. 

"  Certainly.  She'll  be  sorry  she  wasn't  in.  Are 
you  staying  here  long?" 

"About  three  days." 

Annis  pondered. 

"  She's  going  out  to-morrow,"  she  said  tentatively. 

"  I  shall  be  in  the  town  the  day  after  on  business," 


60  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

said  the  skipper.  "  If  it  wouldn't  be  troubling  you 
I  might  look  in.  Good-bye." 

He  shook  hands  confusedly,  wondering  whether 
he  had  gone  too  far  ;  and,  as  the  door  closed  behind 
him,  put  his  hands  in  Captain  Gething's  pockets  and 
went  off  in  a  brown  study.  Slowly  and  distinctly 
as  he  went  along  the  various  things  grouped  them- 
selves together  in  his  mind,  and  he  began  to  think 
aloud. 

"  She  knew  her  mother  was  out  when  she  met  me," 
he  said  slowly.  "  She  knew  that  other  fellow  was 

here;  but  one  would  have  thought Lovers' 

tiff,"  he  said  suddenly  and  bitterly  ;  "  and  doing  the 
pleasant  to  me  to  make  him  smart  a  bit.  He'll  be 
round  to-morrow  when  the  mother's  out." 

He  went  back  dejectedly  to  his  ship,  and  counter- 
manding the  tea  with  which  the  zealous  Henry  was 
about  to  indulge  him,  changed  his  clothes  and  sat 
down  to  smoke. 

"  You've  got  a  bit  wet,"  said  the  mate.  "  Where'd 
you  get  the  coat  ?  " 

"  Friend,"  said  the  other.  "  Had  it  lent  to  me. 
You  know  that  Captain  Gething  I  told  you  to  look 
out  for?" 

"  I  do,"  said  the  other  eagerly. 

"  Let  the  crew  know  that  the  reward  is  raised  to 
five  pounds,"  said  the  skipper,  drawing  strongly  at 
his  pipe. 

"  If  the  reward  is  riz  to  five  pounds  the  cook'll  be 
'ung  for  murder  or  som'think,"  said  Henry.  "It's 
no  use  lookin'  to  the  crew  for  'elp,  sir — not  a  bit." 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  61 

The  skipper  deigned  no  reply,  and  his  message 
having  been  conveyed  to  the  foc'sle,  a  scene  of  in- 
tense animation  prevailed  there. 

"  Fm  goin'  to  have  a  go  now,"  said  Dick  emphati- 
cally. "  Five  pounds  is  worth  picking  up." 

"  I  only  'ope  as  you  won't  'ave  the  treat  I  'ad," 
said  the  cook  feelingly. 

"  Wot  we  want,"  said  fat  Sam,  "  is  one  o'  them 
things  people  'ave  in  the  City — one  o'  the  *er  what 
d'yer  call  'ems." 

"  'Ansom  keb?"  suggested  the  cook. 

"  'Ansom  keb  be  damned !  "  said  Sam  scornfully. 
"  One  of  them  things  wot  'as  a  lot  o'  people  in,  I 
mean." 

"  Tramcars,"  said  the  cook,  who  was  all  at  sea. 
"  But  you  couldn't  take  a  tramcar  all  over  the 
country,  Sam." 

"If  anybody  was  to  ask  me,  I  should  say  you  was 
a  silly  fool,"  said  Sam  impatiently.  "  I  mean  one  o* 
them  things  people  puts  their  money  in." 

The  wondering  cook  had  got  as  far  as  "  automatic 
mach "  when  Henry  jostled  him  into  silence. 

"Wot  are  you  gettin'  at?  "said  Dick.  "Why 
don't  you  talk  plain  ?  " 

"  Cos  I  can't  remember  the  word,"  said  Sam 
angrily ;  "  but  a  lot  o'  people  gets  together  and  goes 
shares." 

"You  mean  a  syndikit,"  said  Dick. 

"  That's  the  word,"  said  Sam,  with  relief. 

"  Well,  wot's  the  good  of  it  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  This  way,"  said  Sam  ;  "  we  make  up  a  syndikit 


62  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

and  divide  the  money  when  Vs  found.  It  *ud  be  a 
cruel  thing,  Dick,  if,  just  as  you'd  spotted  your  man, 
I  wos  to  come  along  and  snap  'im  up  under  your 
werry  nose,  for  instance ' 

"  You'd  better  try  it,"  said  Dick  grimly. 

It's  a  very  good  idea  o'  yours,  Sam,"  said  the 
cook.  "  I'll  join  it." 

"  You'd  better  come  in,  Dick,"  said  Sam. 

"  Not  me,"  said  Dick ;  "  it's  five  pounds  I'm  after.** 

"We  shall  beworkin'  agin  you,  you  know,  me  an* 
the  cook  an'  the  boy,"  said  Sam  anxiously. 

"Hoi"  said  Henry,  "don't  think  I'm  takin'  a 
'and,  cos  I'm  not." 

"Werry  good,  then,"  said  Sam,  "the — the 

what  d'ye  call  it,  Dick  ?  " 

"  Syndikit,"  said  Dick. 

"  The  syndikit  is  me  and  the  cook,  then,"  said 
Sam.  "Give  us  your  'and,  cook." 

In  this  informal  way  the  "  Captain  Gething  Search 
Company"  was  founded,  and  the  syndicate,  thinking 
that  they  had  a  good  thing,  began  to  hold  aloof 
from  their  fellows,  and  to  confer  darkly  in  remote 
corners.  They  expended  a  shilling  on  a  popular 
detective  story  entitled,  "  On  the  Trail,"  and  an 
element  of  adventure  was  imported  into  their  lives 
which  brightened  them  considerably. 

The  following  day  the  skipper  spent  hard  at  work 
with  the  cargo,  bustling  about  with  feverish  energy 
as  the  afternoon  wore  on  and  left  him  to  imagine 
his  rival  t$te-&-t$te  with  Annis.  After  tea  a  reac- 
tion set  in,  and,  bit  by  bit  the  mate,  by  means  of 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  63 

timely  sympathy,  learnt  all  that  there  was  to  know. 
Henry,  without  a  display  of  anything,  except,  per- 
haps, silence,  learnt  it  too. 

"  It's  in  your  favor  that  it's  your  own  craft,"  said 
the  mate ;  "  you  can  go  where  you  like.  If  you  find 
the  father,  she  might  chuck  the  other  feller." 

"That  isn't  my  object  i<n  finding  him,"  said  the 
skipper.  "  I  just  want  to  find  him  to  oblige  her." 

He  set  off  the  following  afternoon  followed  by  the 
stealthy  glances  of  the  crew,  who  had  heard  some- 
thing from  Henry,  and,  first  getting  his  beard 
trimmed  at  a  barber's,  walked  along  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Gething.  She  was  in,  and  pleased  to  see  him,  and 
hearing  that  his  crew  were  also  searching,  sup- 
plied  him  with  another  photograph  of  the  missing 
captain. 

"  Miss  Gething  well  ? "  inquired  the  skipper  as, 
after  accepting  an  invitation  to  a  cup  of  tea,  he 
noticed  that  she  only  laid  for  two. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  she's  gone  to  London,"  said  Mrs.  Geth- 
ing. "  She's  got  friends  there,  you  know." 

"  Mr.  Glover,"  said  the  skipper  to  himself  with 
dismal  intuition.  "  I  met  a  friend  here  the  day 
before  yesterday,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  Oh,  yes — Mr.  Glover,"  said  the  old  lady  ;  "  a  man 
in  a  very  good  position.  He's  very  nice,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Splendid,"  murmured  the  skipper  vaguely. 

"  He  would  do  anything  for  her,"  said  the  fond 
mother.  "  I'm  sure  it's  quite  touching  the  way  he 
looks  after  her." 

"  Going  to  be  married  soon  ?  "  queried  the  skipper. 


64  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

He  knew  it  was  a  rude  question  for  a  comparative 
stranger  to  ask,  but  he  couldn't  help  it. 

"  When  my  husband  is  found,"  said  the  old  lady, 
shaking  her  head  sadly.  "  She  won't  marry  till 
then." 

The  skipper  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and  pushing  his 
plate  from  him,  pondered  over  this  latest  piece  of 
information.  It  seemed  at  first  an  excellent  reason 
for  not  finding  Captain  Gething,  but  the  idea  had 
hardly  occurred  to  him  before  he  dismissed  it  as  un- 
worthy, and  manfully  resolved  to  do  his  best.  For 
an  hour  he  sat  listening  to  the  somewhat  prosy  talk 
of  the  old  lady,  and  then — there  being  no  sign  of 
Annis's  return — he  silently  departed  and  made  his 
way  back  to  the 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  65 


CHAPTER  VI. 

To  the  cook's  relief  he  found  that  the  Seameivs 
next  voyage  was  to  a  little  port  on  the  West  Coast 
named  Cocklemouth,  calling  at  the  garrison  town  of 
Bymouth  on  the  way.  He  told  Sam  that  it  was  a 
load  off  his  mind,  and  showed  clearly  by  his  manner 
that  he  expected  the  syndicate  at  least  to  accept  his 
story.  They  spent  most  of  their  time  in  the  galley, 
where,  secure  from  money-grubbing  eavesdroppers, 
they  matured  their  plans  over  the  washing  of  pota- 
toes and  the  scouring  of  saucepans.  "  On  the  Trail  " 
was  remarkably  clever,  and  they  obtained  many 
helpful  suggestions  from  it,  though  the  discovery 
that  Henry  had  got  hold  of  it,  and  had  marked  all 
the  most  valuable  passages  in  lead  pencil,  caused 
them  much  anxiety. 

The  syndicate  were  the  first  to  get  ashore  the 
evening  they  arrived  at  Bymouth.  They  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  in  their  deliberations  that  the  only 
possible  place  in  which  a  retired  mariner  would  spend 
his  evenings  was  a  public-house,  and  they  resolved 
to  do  them  thoroughly. 

"  The  worst  of  it,"  said  Sam,  as  they  walked  slowly 
together  to  the  town,  "  is  the  drinkin'.     Arter  I've 
'ad  five  or  six  pints,  everybody  looks  to  me  like 
Cap'n  Gething." 
5 


66  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  We  won't  'ave  no  drinkin',"  said  the  cook. 
"  We'll  do  wot  the  feller  did  in  that  story.  'Ave  you 
got  sixpence  about  you?" 

"Wot  for?"  inquired  Sam  carefully. 

"  Workin*  expenses,"  replied  the  cook,  dwelling 
fondly  on  the  phrase. 

"That'll  be  thruppence  each,  then,"  said  Sam, 
eyeing  him  suspiciously. 

"  Sixpence  each,"  said  the  cook.  "  Now  do  you 
know  what  we're  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

"  Chuck  money  away,"  hazarded  Sam  as  he  reluc- 
tantly drew  a  sixpence  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  the  cook.  "  Where's  your  sixpence  ?  " 

The  cook  showed  it  to  him,  and  Sam,  whose  faith 
in  human  nature  had  been  largely  shaken  by  a  perusal 
of  the  detective  story  referred  to,  bit  it  critically. 

"  We  can't  go  into  pubs  without  drinkin'  in  the 
ordinary  way,"  said  the  cook,  "  so  we're  goin'  in  to 
sell  bootlaces,  like  the  chap  in  the  book  did.  Now 
do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Why  not  try  something  cheaper  first  ?  "  growled 
Sam — "  measurin'  footmarks,  or  over-'earing  fellers 
talking?  It's  just  like  you,  cookie,  doin'  expensive 
things." 

Under  the  cook's  glance  of  silent  scorn  he  became 
first  restive  and  then  abusive,  winding  up  finally  by 
demanding  his  money  back. 

"  Don't  you  be  a  fool ! "  said  the  cook  coarsely. 
"You  leave  it  to  me." 

"  And  get  tied  up  in  a  chair  with  my  own  boot- 
laces  p'raps,"  said  the  irritated  seaman. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  67 

The  cook,  affecting  not  to  hear  him,  looked  out  for 
a  boot-shop,  and  having  found  one,  walked  in,  fol- 
lowed by  the  discontented  Sam,  and  purchased  a 
shilling's-worth  of  laces. 

"  Wot  am  I  to  say  ?  "  demanded  Sam  surlily,  as 
they  stood  outside,  and  the  cook  hung  half  a  dozen 
laces  over  his  arm. 

"You  needn't  say  anything,"  replied  the  cook. 
"Just  walk  in  an'  'old  'em  up  in  the  people's  faces, 
an'  if  anybody  offers  you  a  drink  you  may  'ave  it." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothin',"  said  Sam,  with  prophetic 
insight. 

"You  take  all  the  pubs  this  side  of  the  *igh  Street 
an*  I'll  take  the  other,"  said  the  cook.  "And  if  you 
look  as  cheerful  as  you  look  now  you  ought  to  take 
a  lot  o'  money." 

He  turned  away,  and  with  a  farewell  caution 
against  drinking,  set  off.  The  stout  seaman,  with  a 
strong  distaste  for  his  job,  took  the  laces  in  his  hand 
and  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  a  small  but 
noisy  tavern  in  the  next  street.  The  public  bar  was 
full,  and  Sam's  heart  failed  him  as  he  entered  it,  and, 
bearing  the  cook's  instructions  in  mind,  held  up  his 
wares  to  the  customers.  Most  of  them  took  no  no- 
tice, and  the  only  man  who  said  anything  to  him  was 
a  red-nosed  sergeant  of  marines,  who,  setting  his 
glass  with  great  deliberation  on  the  counter,  gazed 
fixedly  at  a  dozen  laces  crawling  over  his  red  sleeve. 
His  remarks,  when  he  discovered  their  connection 
with  Sam,  were  of  a  severe  and  sweeping  character, 
and  contained  not  the  slightest  reference  to  a  drink. 


68  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

In  the  next  bar  he  met  a  philanthropist  who 
bought  up  his  whole  stock-in-trade.  The  stout  sea- 
man was  utterly  unprepared  for  such  kindness,  and 
stood  looking  at  him  dumbly,  his  lips  all  a-tremble 
with  naughty  words. 

"  There,   there,"     said    his    benefactor    kindly. 
*'  Never  mind  about  thanking  me." 

Sam  obeyed  him  easily,  and  departing  in  silence, 
went  off  raving  to  the  nearest  boot-shop  to  buy 
more  laces.  Taught  by  experience,  he  put  some  of 
his  new  stock  in  his  pocket,  and  with  a  couple  of 
pairs  in  his  hand,  entered  the  next  tavern  on  his 
beat. 

The  bar  was  pretty  full,  but  he  pushed  his  way  in, 
and  offering  his  wares  in  a  perfunctory  fashion, 
looked  round  carefully  for  any  signs  of  Captain 
Gething. 

"  Outside  !  "  said  a  smart  barmaid  with  a  toss  of 
her  head  as  she  caught  sight  of  him. 

"  I'm  goin',  miss,"  said  Sam,  blushing  with  shame. 
Hitherto  most  barmaids  had  treated  him  with  kind- 
ness, and  in  taverns  where  his  powers  were  known, 
usually  addressed  him  as  "  sir." 

"  Down  on  your  luck,  mate?  "  said  a  voice  as  he 
turned  to  go. 

"  Starvin',  sir,"  said  Sam,  who  was  never  one  to 
trouble  about  appearances. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  his  new  friend,  with  a  nod  at 
the  barmaid,  who  was  still  regarding  the  seaman  in  a 
hostile  fashion. 

Sam  sat  down  and  mentally  blessed  the  reservation 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  69 

regarding  free  drinks  as  his  benefactor  turned  to  the 
bar  and  gave  his  order.  His  eyes  beamed  softly 
with  a  mixture  of  gratitude  and  amusement  as  his 
new  friend  came  back  with  a  pint  of  ale  and  half  a 
loaf  of  bread. 

"  Get  through  that,  old  chap,"  said  the  man  as  he 
handed  him  the  bread ;  "  and  there's  some  more 
where  that  came  from." 

He  sat  down  opposite,  and  taking  a  long  pull  at 
the  pewter,  watched  with  a  kind  smile  to  see  the 
famished  seaman  eat.  He  noted  as  a  strange  fact 
that  starving  men  nibble  gently  at  the  outside 
crust  first,  and  then  start  on  small,  very  small,  mouth- 
fuls  of  crumb,  instinct  rather  than  reason  probably 
warning  them  of  the  dangers  of  a  surfeit. 

For  a  few  minutes  Sam,  with  one  eye  on  the  pew. 
ter  and  the  other  on  the  door,  struggled  to  perform 
his  part.  Then  he  rose,  and  murmuring  broken 
thanks,  said  he  would  take  some  home  to  his  wife 
and  children. 

"  Never  mind  your  wife  and  children,"  said  his 
benefactor,  putting  down  the  empty  pewter. 
"  You  eat  that  up  and  I'll  give  you  a  couple  of  loaves 
to  take  home  to  them." 

11  My  'art's  too  full  to  eat,"  said  Sam,  getting  a 
little  nearer  the  door. 

"  He  means  his  stomach,"  said  a  stern  but  youth- 
ful voice  which  the  unhappy  seaman  knew  only  too 
well.  He  turned  smartly  and  saw  the  face  of  Henry 
peering  over  the  partition,  and  beside  it  the  grin- 
uing  countenance  of  Dick. 


70  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  He  was  on  our  ship  this  afternoon,"  continued 
his  youthful  tormentor  as  he  scrambled  still  higher 
up  the  partition,  and  getting  one  arm  over,  pointed  an 
accusing  finger  at  Sam,  who  had  been  pushed  back 
into  his  seat.  "  We  gave  him  a  lovely  dinner,  an* 
arter  he'd  eat  it  he  went  off  on  the  quiet  in  one  of 
our  chaps'  clothes." 

"  That's  right,  mates,"  said  the  delighted  Dick, 
nodding  at  the  audience. 

"  One  of  our  chaps  named  Sam,"  went  on  Henry 
— "  one  of  the  best  an'  kindest  'carted  chaps  that 
ever  breathed." 

"  Regular  brick  he  is,"  assented  Dick. 

"  Fine,  big  'ansome  man,  he  is,"  said  Henry,  "  and 
this  chap's  got  his  clothes  on." 

The  customers  gazed  sternly  at  Sam  as  he  sat 
open-mouthed  listening  to  these  fulsome  but  un- 
timely praises.  In  every  gathering  there  is  sure  to 
be  one  or  two  whose  self-imposed  mission  it  is  to 
right  wrongs,  and  one  of  this  type  present  at  once 
suggested  returning  the  clothes  to  the  rightful 
owner.  His  suggestion  was  adopted  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  a  dozen  men  closed  round  the  hapless 
Sam. 

"  Outside,  gentlemen,  please,"  said  the  barmaid 
hastily. 

They  went  out  in  a  cluster,  the  stout  seaman  in 
the  centre  fighting  like  a  madman,  ani  nearly  over- 
turning three  soldiers  who  were  passing.  Two  of 
them  were  named  Murphy  and  one  O'Sullivan,  and 
the  riot  that  ensued  took  three  policemen  and  a 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  fi 

picket  to  subdue.  Sam,  glad  of  a  chance  to  get 
away,  only  saw  the  beginning  of  it,  and  consumed 
by  violent  indignation,  did  not  pause  until  he  had 
placed  half  a  dozen  streets  between  himself  and  the 
scene  of  his  discomfiture. 

He  had  no  intention  of  breaking  faith  with  the 
cook,  but  he  had  a  pint  and  thought  that  circum- 
stances justified  it.  Then  he  walked  slowly  up  and 
down  the  street  a  little  while,  debating  whether  he 
should  continue  the  search  or  return  to  the  schooner. 
For  a  time  he  strolled  on  aimlessly,  and  then,  resolv- 
ing not  to  be  defeated  by  the  impertinences  of  Dick 
and  the  boy,  paused  before  a  high-class  tavern  and 
went  in.  Two  or  three  well-dressed  men,  whose 
behavior  contrasted  favorably  with  that  of  the  vul- 
gar crew  he  had  just  left,  shook  their  heads,  but 
not  unkindly,  and  he  was  about  to  leave  when  a  big, 
black-bearded  man  entered. 

"  That's  a  poor  game,"  said  the  big  man,  glancing 
at  the  laces. 

"Yes,  sir, "  said  Sam  humbly. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  thrive  on  it,"  said  the  man, 
somewhat  sternly. 

"  It's  only  looks,  sir,"  said  Sam,  shaking  his  head 
as  he  walked  to  the  door. 

"  Drink,  I  s'pose,"  said  the  other. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Sam. 

"  When  did  you  taste  food  last  ?  "  continued  the 
other. 

"  Yesterday  morning,"  said  Sam,  clearing  a  soft 
piece  of  bread  from  his  teeth  with  his  tongue. 


72  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"Could  you  take  something ?"  inquired  the  other. 

Sam  smiled  expectantly  and  took  a  seat.  He 
heard  his  new  friend  order  a  pot,  and  wiping  his 
mouth  on  the  back  of  his  hand,  tried  to  think  of 
something  nice  to  say  as  he  drank  it.  Then  his 
blood  froze  in  his  veins,  and  his  jaw  dropped  as  the 
other  came  from  the  counter  and  held  out  half  a 
loaf. 

"  There,  my  man,"  he  said  kindly, "  put  that  inside 
you." 

Sam  took  it  and  tried  to  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and 
repeating  his  old  tale  about  taking  it  home  to  the 
children,  rose  to  depart. 

"  You  eat  that,  and  I'll  give  you  a  couple  of  loaves 
to  take  home  to  them,"  said  the  other. 

The  bread  fell  from  Sam's  nerveless  fingers  and 
rolled  on  to  the  floor.  A  bystander  picked  it  up,  and 
wiping  it  on  his  coat,  returned  it  to  him. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  big  man,  taking  a  deep  draught 
of  his  beer — "  eat  away." 

"  I  must  see  my  children  eat  first,"  said  Sam  in  a 
broken  voice. 

"You  eat  that  bread  or  I'll  call  a  policeman  and 
give  you  in  charge,"  said  the  other,  raising  his 
voice.  "  I  believe  you're  an  impostor.  Where's 
your  hawker's  license  ?  " 

In  a  state  bordering  upon  frenzy  Sam  bit  off  a 
piece  of  the  bread  and  tried  to  swallow  it.  He  took 
up  a  water-bottle  and  drank  some  of  the  contents, 
and  within  five  minutes  had  swallowed  as  many 
mouthfuls. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  73 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  donor  sternly. 

"  I  won't,"  said  Sam  fiercely ;  "  damned  if  I  will !  " 

The  other  rose  and  went  to  the  door.  "  Just  step 
this  way  a  minute,  constable,"  he  said  quietly. 

He  stood  aside,  and,  as  Sam  paused  with  the  bread 
in  his  hand,  the  door  opened  and  Dick  and  Henry 
entered,  and  shaking  their  heads,  gazed  sorrowfully 
upon  him.  The  big  man  sat  down  and  laughed  until 
he  cried  as  Sam,  realizing  the  plot  of  which  he  had 
been  the  victim,  flung  the  bread  at  Henry  and  made 
for  the  door.  He  went  down  the  road  mad  with 
indignation,  and  with  a  firm  resolve  to  have  no  more 
to  do  with  bootlaces,  pitched  them  away. 

"  Hallo,  Sam  !  "  cried  a  figure  from  the  other  side 
of  the  road.  "  Any  luck  ?  " 

Sam  shook  his  head  speechlessly. 

"  You've  been  drinkin,"  said  the  cook  as  he  came 
over. 

"  I  ain't,"  said  Sam.  Then  a  base  idea  occurred  to 
him,  and  he  took  the  other  by  the  arm. 

"There's  a  pub  down  here,  cook,"  he  said  in  a 
trembling  voice,  "  an'  there's  an  old  chap  there  I  can't 
be  certain  of.  S'pose  you  go  an'  have  a  look  at  'im." 

"  Which  one  ?"  inquired  his  innocent  friend. 

Full  of  a  great  joy,  Sam  led  him  to  the  place  of  his 
mortification,  and  waiting  until  he  was  fairly  in,  stood 
listening  behind  the  door. 

"Why  don't  they  speak  up?"  he  said  crossly,  as  a 
low,  indistinct  murmuring  reached  him.  He  strained 
his  ears  intently,  but  could  not  catch  anything,  and 
losing  all  patience,  was  just  about  to  push  the  door 


74  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

open  and  peep  in  when  he  heard  a  roar  of  laughter. 
Peal  upon  peal  sounded  until  the  bar  shook  with  it, 
and  an  expression  of  peace  and  rest  came  over  his 
face  as  he  pictured  the  scene  inside. 

"  Don't,"  said  the  cook's  voice  feebly. 

There  was  another  roar  of  laughter,  to  which  Sam 
grinned  a  silent  accompaniment. 

"  You'll  kill  me,"  said  the  cook  again,  in  a  choking 
voice. 

"  No  worse  foryou  than  for  me,  my  lad,"  said  Sam, 
with  great  content. 

There  was  another  roar  in  which  Sam,  to  his  amaze- 
ment, fancied  that  the  cook  joined.  He  was  still 
listening  in  a  state  of  maddening  perplexity  when  he 
heard  the  cook's  voice  again. 

"  Poor  old  Sam  !  "  it  said  distinctly.  "  Poor  old 
Sam  !  I'd  'ave  given  anythin'  to  'ave  seen  him." 

The  listener  stiffened  up  suddenly  and,  holding  his 
breath,  went  off  on  tiptoe  down  the  street,  the  sounds 
of  the  foolish  mirth  in  the  bar  ringing  in  his  ears  as 
he  went.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  but  two  definite 
objects  shaped  themselves  in  his  mind  as  he  walked 
fiercely  on — to  smash  first  the  syndicate,  and  then  the 
cook.  With  these  ideas  firmly  fixed  he  went  aboard 
again,  and  going  into  the  lonely  foc'sle,  climbed  into 
his  bunk  and  forgot  his  sorrows  in  sleep — in  a  sleep 
so  sound  that  the  others,  upon  their  return  an  hour 
later,  failed  to  wake  him,  until  Henry,  as  a  last  ex- 
pedient, threw  a  slice  of  bread  at  him.  After  which 
everybody  had  to  keep  awake  all  night  to  mount 
guard  over  their  lives. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  75 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  search  at  Bymouth  obtained  no  further 
assistance  from  Sam.  For  the  remainder  of  their 
stay  there  he  hardly  moved  from  the  ship,  pre- 
ferring to  smoke  his  pipe  in  peace  on  board  to 
meeting  certain  jocular  spirits  ashore  who  wanted  to 
buy  bootlaces.  Conversation  with  Dick  and  the 
boy  he  declined  altogether,  and  it  was  not  until  they 
had  reached  Cocklemouth  that  he  deigned  to  accept 
a  pipe  of  tobacco  from  the  cook's  box. 

Cocklemouth  is  a  small  lone  place  on  the  Welsh 
coast.  When  a  large  ship  gets  into  the  tiny  harbor 
the  inhabitants  come  down  to  see  it,  and  the  skip- 
pers of  small  craft  pop  up  from  their  cabins  and  yell 
out  to  know  where  it's  coming  to.  Even  when  they 
see  it  bound  and  guided  by  many  hawsers  they  are  not 
satisfied,  but  dangling  fenders  in  an  obtrusive  fashion 
over  the  sides  of  their  ships,  prepare  for  the  worst. 

"We  won't  find  'im  'ere,  cookie,"  said  Sam,  as 
the  syndicate  sat  on  deck  on  the  evening  of  their 
arrival  gazing  contemplatively  at  the  few  scattered 
lights  which  appeared  as  twilight  deepened  into 
night.  "  Lonesome  little  place." 

"  I  ain't  got  much  'ope  of  finding  'im  anywhere," 
assented  the  cook. 


76  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  fear  of  Dick  finding  'im,"  said 
Sam  viciously,  "  or  the  boy,  I'd  just  give  it  up, 
cookie." 

"  If  anybody  finds  'im  it'll  be  the  skipper  hisself," 
said  the  cook,  lowering  his  voice  as  the  person 
alluded  to  passed  them  on  his  way  ashore.  "  He 
goes  to  the  police  station  with  the  portrait  and  arsts 
them  there.  What  chance  'ave  we  got  after  that  ?  " 

The  seaman  shook  his  head,  and  after  sitting  for 
some  time  in  silence,  went  ashore  with  the  cook  and 
drank  himself  into  a  state  of  hopeless  pessimism. 
In  this  condition  he  forgave  everybody,  and  feeling 
very  low,  made  his  will  by  the  simple  process  of 
giving  his  knife  to  Dick  and  two  and  sevenpence  to 
Henry.  The  trouble  he  had  in  revoking  it  next 
morning  furnished  a  striking  illustration  of  the 
depths  to  which  poor  humanity  can  descend. 

It  was  bright  and  fine  next  day,  and  after  break- 
fast his  spirits  rose.  The  persistent  tinkle  of  a 
cracked  bell  from  a  small  brick  church  in  the  town, 
and  the  appearance  of  two  girls  walking  along  the 
quay  with  hymn-books,  followed  by  two  young  men 
without,  reminded  him  that  it  was  Sunday. 

The  skipper,  who  was  endeavoring  to  form  new 
habits,  obeyed  the  summons  of  the  bell.  The  mate 
took  a  healthful  walk  of  three  miles,  while  the  crew 
sat  about  the  deck  watching  the  cook's  preparations 
for  dinner,  and  occasionally  lending  him  some  slight 
assistance.  It  was  not  until  the  meal  was  despatched 
that  they  arrayed  themselves  in  their  Sunday  clothes 
and  went  ashore. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  77 

Dick  went  first,  having  thoughtfully  provided 
himself  with  the  photograph  which  had  been  lent 
for  the  use  of  all  of  them.  He  walked  at  first  into 
the  town,  but  the  bare  shuttered  shops  and  deserted 
streets  worked  upon  his  feelings,  and  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  he  walked  back  in  the  direction  of 
the  harbor.  Here  he  got  into  conversation  with  an 
elderly  man  of  sedate  aspect,  and  after  a  little  gen- 
eral talk,  beginning  with  the  weather  and  ending 
with  tobacco,  he  produced  the  photograph  and 
broached  the  subject  of  Captain  Gething. 

"  Well,  I've  seen  a  man  very  much  like  it,"  said 
his  new  friend  after  a  prolonged  study. 

"Where?"  asked  Dick  eagerly. 

"  I  won't  say  it's  the  same  man,"  said  the  other 
slowly,  as  he  handed  the  portrait  back,  "  but  if  it 
ain't  him  it's  his  brother." 

"Where?"  repeated  Dick  impatiently. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  interfere," 
said  the  man  ;  "  it  ain't  my  business." 

"  If  a  bob  would "  began  Dick. 

"  It  would,"  said  the  man,  smiling  as  he  pocketed 
it.  "  He  lives  at  Piggott's  Bay,"  he  said  impres- 
sively. 

"  And  where  might  that  be  ?  "  inquired  the  sea- 
man. 

The  man  turned  and  pointed  across  a  piece  of 
untidy  waste  ground  to  a  coastguard's  path  which 
wound  its  way  along  the  top  of  the  cliffs. 

"  Follow  that  path  as  straight  as  you  can  go,' 
said  he. 


78  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"How  far?"  said  Dick. 

"Well,  some  people  make  a  long  journey  of  it, 
and  some  a  short  one,"  said  the  other  oracularly. 
"  Shall  we  say  six  miles?" 

Dick  said  he  would  sooner  say  three. 

"  An  easy  six,  then,"  said  the  man  smiling  indul- 
gently. "  Well,  good-day  to  you." 

"  Good-day,  mate,"  said  Dick,  and  plunging  into 
the  dtbris  before  him,  started  on  his  walk. 

It  was  unfortunate  for  him  in  the  sequel  that  Sam 
and  the  cook,  who  had  started  out  for  a  quiet  stroll, 
without  any  intention  of  looking  for  Captain 
Gething,  or  any  nonsense  of  that  kind,  had  witnessed 
the  interview  from  a  distance.  By  dint  of  hurrying 
they  overtook  the  elderly  man  of  sedate  aspect,  and 
by  dint  of  cross-questioning,  elicited  the  cause  of 
Dick's  sudden  departure. 

"  Which  way  is  it  ?  "  inquired  Sam. 

"  You  follow  him,"  said  the  man,  indicating  the 
figure  in  front  as  it  slowly  ascended  the  cliff,  "  and 
you'll  be  there  as  soon  as  he  will." 

The  comfortable  stroll  was  abandoned,  and  the 
couple,  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance,  followed 
their  unconscious  comrade.  The  day  was  hot,  and 
the  path,  which  sometimes  ran  along  the  top  of  the 
cliff  and  sometimes  along  the  side  of  it,  had  appar- 
ently escaped  the  attention  of  the  local  County 
Council.  No  other  person  was  in  sight,  and  the 
only  things  that  moved  were  a  few  sheep  nibbling 
the  short  grass,  which  scampered  off  at  their 
approach,  and  a  gull  or  two  poised  overhead. 


THE, SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  79 

M  We  want  to  get  there  afore  'e  does,"  said  Sam, 
treading  gingerly  along  a  difficult  piece  of  path. 

"  He'd  see  us  if  we  ran  along  the  beach,"  said  the 
cook. 

"  We  can't  run  on  shingle,"  said  Sam ;  "  and  it 
don't  seem  much  good  just  gettin*  there  to  see  'im 
find  the  cap'n,  does  it  ?  " 

*'  We  must  wait  for  an  hoppertunity,"  said  the 
cook. 

Sam  grunted. 

"  An*  when  it  comes,  seize  it  at  once,"  continued 
the  cook,  who  disapproved  of  the  grunt. 

They  kept  on  for  some  time  steadily,  though  Sam 
complained  bitterly  about  the  heat  as  he  mopped 
his  streaming  brow. 

"  He's  going  down  on  to  the  beach,"  said  the 
cook  suddenly.  "  Make  a  spurt  for  it,  Sam,  and 
we'll  pass  him." 

The  stout  seaman  responded  to  the  best  of  his 
ability,  and  arriving  at  the  place  where  Dick  had 
disappeared,  flung  himself  down  on  the  grass  and  lay 
there  panting.  He  was  startled  by  a  cry  of  surprise 
from  the  cook. 

"  Come  on,  Sam,"  he  said  eagerly ;  "  he's  going  in 
for  a  swim." 

His  friend  moved  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and 
looked  over.  A  little  heap  of  clothing  lay  just  below 
him,  and  Dick  was  striding  over  the  sands  to  the 
sea. 

"  Come  on,"  repeated  the  cook  impatiently ;  "  we've 
got  the  start." 


8o  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  I  should  laugh  if  somebody  was  to  steal  his 
clothes,"  said  Sam  vindictively  as  he  gazed  at  the 
garments. 

"  Be  all  right  for  us  if  they  did,"  said  the  cook ; 
"  we'd  have  plenty  o'  time  to  look  around  this  'ere 
Piggott's  Bay  then."  He  glanced  at  Sam  as  he 
spoke,  and  read  his  horrible  purpose  in  his  eyes. 
"  No,  no  !  "  he  said  hastily. 

"  Not  steal  'em,  cookie,"  said  Sam  seductively, 
"  only  bury  'em  under  the  shingle.  I'll  toss  you 
who  does  it." 

For  sixty  seconds  the  cook  struggled  gamely  with 
the  tempter. 

"  It's  just  a  bit  of  a  joke,  cook,"  said  Sam  jovially. 
"  Dick  'ud  be  the  first  to  laugh  at  it  hisself  if  it  was 
somebody  else's  clothes."  He  spun  a  penny  in 
the  air,  and  covering  it  deftly,  held  it  out  to  the 
cook. 

"  Heads  ! "  said  the  latter  softly. 

"Tails!"    said  Sam  cheerfully  ;  "  hurry  up,  cook." 

The  cook  descended  without  a  word,  and  hastily 
interring  the  clothes,  not  without  an  uneasy  glance 
seaward,  scrambled  up  the  cliff  again  and  rejoined 
his  exultant  accomplice.  They  set  off  in  silence, 
keeping  at  some  distance  from  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

"  Business  is  business,"  said  the  cook  after  a  time, 
"  and  he  wouldn't  join  the  syndikit." 

"  He  was  greedy,  and  wanted  it  all,"  said  Sam  with 
severity. 

"  P'raps  it'll  be  a  lesson  to  *im,"  said  the  cook 
unctuously.  "  I  took  the  bearings  of  the  place  in 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  81 

case  fe  don't  find  'em.  Some  people  wouldn't  ha* 
done  that." 

They  kept  on  steadily  for  another  hour,  until  at 
last  they  came  quite  suddenly  upon  a  little  fishing 
village  situated  on  a  tiny  bay.  Two  or  three  small 
craft  were  anchored  inside  the  stone  pier,  along 
which  two  or  three  small  children,  in  all  the  restric- 
tion of  Sunday  clothes,  were  soberly  pacing  up  and 
down. 

"  This  must  be  it,"  said  Sam.  "  Keep  your  eyes 
open,  cook." 

"  What's  the  name  o'  this  place,  mate  ?  "  said  Sam 
expectantly  to  an  old  salt  who  was  passing. 

"  Stone-pen  Quay,"  said  the  old  man. 

Sam's  face  fell.  "  How  far  is  it  to  Piggott's  Bay, 
then  ?"  he  inquired. 

*'  To  where  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  taking  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth  and  staring  hard. 

"  Piggott's  Bay,"  said  Sam. 

"You  don't  tell  me  you're  looking  for  Piggott's 
Bay,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  Why  not?"  said  Sam  shortly. 

Instead  of  replying  the  old  man  slapped  his  leg, 
and  with  his  pipe  cocked  at  one  side  of  his  mouth, 
laughed  a  thin  senile  laugh  with  the  other. 

"  When  you've  done  laughin',"  said  the  cook  with 
dignity. 

"But  I  ain't,"  said  the  old  man,  removing  his  pipe 
and  laughing  with  greater  freedom.  "  They're  look- 
ing for  Piggott's  Bay,  Joe,"  he  said,  turning  to  a 
couple  of  fishermen  who  had  just  come  up. 


82  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  What  a  lark  !  "  said  Joe,  beaming  with  pleasure. 
"  Come  far  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Cocklemouth,"  said  Sam  with  a  blank  look. 
"  When  you've  done  laughin',  what's  the  joke?  " 

"  Why,  there  ain't  no  such  place,"  said  the  man. 
"  It's  just  a  saying  in  these  parts,  that's  all." 

"JnstatMf/"  said  the  bewildered  Sam  faintly. 

"  It's  just  a  saying  like,"  said  the  other,  exchanging 
glances  with  his  friends. 

"  I  don't  take  you,"  said  the  cook.  "  How  can  a 
place  be  a  sayin'  ?  " 

"Well,  it  come  through  a  chap  about  here  named 
Captain  Piggott,"  said  the  fisherman,  speaking 
slowly.  "  He  was  a  wonderful  queer  old  chap,  and 
he  got  out  of  his  reckoning  once,  and  made — ah, 
South  Amerikey,  warn't  it,  Dan  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  He  thought  he'd  found  a  new  island,"  continued 
the  fisherman,  "  an'  he  went  ashore  an'  hoisted  the 
Union  Jack,  and  named  it  arter  hisself,  Piggott's 
Bay.  Leastways  that's  the  tale  his  chaps  gave  out 
when  they  come  'ome.  Now  when  anybody's  a  bit 
out  o'  their  reckoning  we  say  they're  looking  for 
Piggott's  Bay.  It's  just  a  joke  about  here." 

He  began  to  laugh  again,  and  Sam,  noting  with 
regret  that  he  was  a  big  fellow  and  strong,  turned 
away  and  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  the  cook,  who 
had  already  commenced  the  ascent  of  the  cliff. 
They  paused  at  the  top  and  looked  back ;  Stone-pen 
Quay  was  still  laughing. 

Moved  by  a  common  idea  of  their  personal  safety, 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  8$ 

they  struck  inland,  preferring  an  additional  mile  or 
two  to  encountering  Dick.  Conversation  was  at  a 
discount,  and  they  plodded  on  sulkily  along  the 
dusty  road,  their  lips  parched  and  their  legs  aching. 

They  got  back  to  the  Sea-mew  at  seven  o  clock, 
and  greeting  Henry,  who  was  in  sole  charge,  with 
fair  words  and  soothing  compliments,  persuaded  him 
to  make  them  some  tea. 

"  Where's  Dick  ? "  inquired  Sam  casually  as  he 
sat  drinking  it. 

"  Ain't  seen  'im  since  dinner,"  said  the  boy.  "  I 
thought  he  was  with  you  p'raps." 

Sam  shook  his  head,  and  finishing  his  tea  went 
on  deck  with  the  cook,  and  gave  himself  up  to  all 
the  delights  of  a  quiet  sprawl.  Fatigued  with  their 
exertions,  neither  of  them  moved  until  nine  o'clock, 
and  then,  with  a  farewell  glance  in  the  direction  in 
which  Dick  might  be  expected  to  come,  went  below 
and  turned  in. 

They  left  the  lamp  burning,  to  the  great  satisfac- 
tion of  Henry,  who  was  reading,  and,  as  ten  o'clock 
struck  somewhere  in  the  town,  exchanged  anxious 
glances  across  the  foc'sle  concerning  Dick's  safety. 
Safe  and  warm  in  their  bunks,  it  struck  both  of  them 
that  they  had  been  perhaps  a  little  bit  selfish. 
Half  an  hour  later  Henry  looked  up  suddenly  as 
something  soft  leaped  on  to  the  deck  above  and 
came  pattering  towards  the  foc'sle.  The  next 
moment  his  surprise  gave  way  to  indignation,  and 
he  raised  his  voice  in  tones  of  expostulation  which 
Mrs.  Grundy  herself  would  have  envied. 


84  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Dick  !  "  he  cried  shrilly.     "  Dick  !  " 

"  Shut  up ! "  said  Dick  fiercely  as  he  flung  himself 
panting  on  a  locker.  "  O  my  Lord,  I  have  had  a 
time ! " 

"  I'm  surprised  at  you,"  said  Henry  severely,  as  he 
dragged  some  blankets  from  the  bunks  and  threw 
them  over  the  exhausted  seaman.  "  Where's  your 
modesty,  Dick?" 

"If  you  say  another  word  I'll  knock  yer  ugly 
little  head  off  1 "  said  Dick  wrathfully.  "  If  I  hadn't 
been  modest  I  should  have  come  home  by  daylight. 
Oh,  I  have  had  a  time !  I  have  had  a  time  ! " 

"  Where's  your  clothes?"  inquired  Henry. 

"How  the  devil  should  I  know?"  snapped  the 
other.  "  I  left  'em  on  the  beach  while  I  went  for  a 
swim,  and  when  I  come  back  they'd  gone.  I've  been 
sittin'  on  that  damned  cold  shingle  since  three 
o'clock  this  arternoon,  and  not  a  soul  come  near 
me !  It's  the  first  time  I've  been  lookin'  for  Cap'n 
Gething,  and  it'll  be  the  last." 

"Oh,  you've  been  at  it,  'ave  yer !"  said  Henry. 
*'  I  told  you  you  chaps  would  get  in  a  mess  over 
that." 

"  You  know  a  damned  sight  too  much  for  your 
age  ! "  growled  Dick.  "  There's  no  call  to  say  any- 
thing to  Sam  and  the  cook  about  it,  mind." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Henry. 

"  Cos  I  say  you're  not  to,"  said  Dick  ferociously. 
««  That's  why." 

"  P'raps  they  know,"  said  Henry  quietly.  "  Seems 
to  me  Sam's  listenin'  in  his  sleep." 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  85 

Dick  got  up,  and  going  to  their  bunks  inspected 
the  sleep  of  both  his  comrades  cautiously.  Then 
with  a  repetition  of  his  caution,  strengthened  by 
fearful  penalties  for  disobedience,  went  to  his  own 
bunk  and  forgot  his  troubles  in  sleep.  He  kept  his 
secret  all  next  day,  but  his  bewilderment  when  he 
awoke  on  Tuesday  morning  and  found  the  clothes 
in  an  untidy  brown  paper  parcel  lying  on  the  deck 
led  to  its  divulgence.  He  told  both  Sam  and  the 
cook  about  it,  and  his  opinion  of  both  men  went  up 
when  he  found  that  they  did  not  treat  the  matter 
in  the  light  of  a  joke,  as  he  had  feared.  Neither  of 
them  even  smiled,  neither  did  they  extend  much 
sympathy  ;  they  listened  apathetically,  and  so  soon 
as  he  had  finished,  went  straight  off  to  sleep  where 
they  sat — a  performance  which  they  repeated  at 
every  opportunity  throughout  the  whole  of  thr 
day. 


86  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  Seamew  lay  at  Cocklemouth  another  three 
days,  in  which  time  Dick,  after  a  twelve-mile  walk, 
learnt  all  there  was  to  learn  about  Piggott's  Bay. 
The  second  outrage  was  likely  to  have  seriously 
injured  his  constitution,  but  the  silver  lining  of  the 
cloud  caught  his  eye  just  as  he  was  closing  it  in 
sleep,  and  the  tension  was  removed. 

"  I've  been  thinkin',  Sam,"  he  said  next  morning, 
"  that  I've  been  rather  selfish  over  that  syndikit 
business.  I  ought  to  'ave  joined  it." 

"  You  can  please  yourself,"  said  Sam. 

"  But  it's  better  late  than  never,"  said  Dick,  turn, 
ing  to  the  cook  who  had  joined  them.  "  I'm  goin* 
to  put  you  in  the  way  of  findin'  Cap'n  Gething." 

The  cook  portrayed  gratified  surprise. 

"  I  know  for  certain  that  he's  livin'  at  a  place 
called  Piggott's  Bay,  a  little  place  just  up  the  coast 
here,"  continued  Dick.  "  If  you  two  chaps  like  to 
walk  out  this  evening  and  find  him  you  can  have 
two  quid  apiece  and  just  give  me  one  for  my- 
self." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Sam,  and  stood  thunderstruck  at  his 
hardihood. 

"  But  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  you,  Dick,"  urged  the 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  87 

cook.  "  We  won't  take  no  advantage  of  you.  The 
five  pounds  is  yours." 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  said  Dick  earnestly.  "  I  want 
to  punish  myself  for  being  greedy.  If  you  two  '11 
just  go  there  and  find  him  I'll  take  it  as  a  favor." 

''  Oh,  well,  we'll  go  then,"  said  the  cook  with  de- 
ceitful joy. 

"  Dick's  'art's  in  the  right  place,  cook,"  observed 
Sam.  "  We'd  better  get  away  directly  arter  tea." 

"  I'd  like  to  shake  you  by  the  'and,  Dick,"  said 
the  cook  warmly. 

"  Me  too,"  said  Sam,  taking  it  as  the  cook  relin- 
quished it.  "  You're  a  fair  brick,  Dick,  an'  no  error." 

"  True  blue,"  said  the  complimentary  cook. 

"  We'll  start  directly  arter  tea,  if  you'll  get  us  the 
flag,  Dick,"  said  Sam. 

"  Flag  ?  "  said  Dick— "flag  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  the  Union  Jack,"  said  Sam,  looking 
at  him  in  simple  surprise.  "  It's  no  use  going  to 
Piggott's  Bay  without  a  Union  Jack  ?  Didn't  you 
know  that,  Dick?  Arter goin'  there  last  night  too!  '* 

He  stood  in  an  easy  attitude  waiting  for  an 
answer  and  gazed  in  clumsy  surprise  at  Dick,  as  that 
arch-deceiver  stamped  his  way  down  below  in  a  fury. 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  pretend  that  Dick  had 
gone  down  for  the  flag  in  question,  and  gingerly 
putting  his  head  down  the  scuttle,  said  that  a  pair 
of  bathing  drawers  would  do  if  it  was  not  forth- 
coming— a  piece  of  pleasantry  which  he  would  will- 
ingly have  withdrawn  when  the  time  came  for  him 
to  meet  Dick  at  dinner. 


88  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

By  the  time  they  reached  Northfleet  again  all  in- 
terest  in  the  search  had  practically  ceased.  For  one 
thing  it  was  an  unpleasant  thing  for  grown  men  to 
be  exposed  to  the  gibes  of  Henry,  and  for  another, 
looking  at  it  in  the  cold  clear  light  of  reason,  they 
could  but  see  that  there  was  very  little  prospect  of 
success.  In  the  cabin  pessimism  was  also  to  the 
front  with  the  mate  as  its  mouthpiece. 

"  It's  against  all  reason,"  he  said,  after  arguing  the 
matter  a  little.  "  You  can't  expect  to  find  him. 
Now  take  my  advice,  you're  doing  better  with  a  safe 
trade  between  here  and  Brittlesea — stick  to  that." 

"  I  won't,"  said  the  other  doggedly. 

"  It's  hard  on  'em,"  said  the  mate — "  the  old  men 
I  mean — chevying  'em  and  hunting  'em  about  just 
because  they've  got  gray  whiskers  and  are  getting 
into  years.  Besides  which,  some  of  the  crew  '11  get 
into  a  mess  sooner  or  later." 

"  Talk  as  much  as  you  like  you  won't  affect  me," 
retorted  the  other,  who  was  carrying  on  the  conver- 
sation as  he  was  down  below  washing. 

"  There  you  go  again,"  said  the  mate,  "  making 
yourself  look  nice.  What  for?  Another  fellow's 
girl.  Turn  it  and  twist  it  as  much  as  you  please, 
that's  what  it  comes  to." 

•'  When  I  want  your  advice,"  said  the  skipper, 
covering  his  confusion  by  a  vigorous  use  of  the  towel, 
"  I'll  ask  for  it." 

He  finished  dressing  in  silence  and  went  ashore, 
and  after  looking  about  him  in  a  perfunctory  fashion, 
strolled  off  in  the  direction  of  Gravesend.  The  one 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  89 

gleam  of  light  in  his  present  condition  was  the  reg- 
ular habits  of  schools,  and  as  he  went  along  he  blessed 
the  strong  sense  of  punctuality  which  possessed  the 
teaching  body  at  four  o'clock. 

To-day,  however,  his  congratulations  were  some- 
what premature,  for  long  after  the  children  had  come 
and  gone  there  was  no  sign  of  Annis  Gething.  He 
walked  up  and  down  the  road  wondering.  Half-past 
four,  five.  He  waited  until  six  o'clock — an  object 
of  much  interest  to  sundry  ladies  who  were  eyeing 
him  stealthily  from  their  front  parlor  windows — and 
was  just  going  at  a  quarter-past  when  he  saw  her 
coming  towards  him. 

"  Back  again,"  she  said  as  she  shook  hands. 

"  Just  back,"  said  he. 

"  No  news  of  my  father,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Annis. 
"  None,  I'm  sorry  to  say,"  said  the  skipper. 
"You're  late  to-night,  aren't  you  ?" 

"  Rather." 

"  You  look  tired,"  said  the  skipper  with  tender- 
ness. 

"  Well,  I'm  not,"  said  Annis.  "  I  just  stayed  and 
had  a  cup  of  tea  with  Miss  Grattan.  Mother  has 
gone  out,  so  I  didn't  hurry." 

"  Out  now?  "  inquired  he. 

Miss  Gething  nodded  brightly,  and  having  by  this 
time  reached  the  corner  of  a  road,  came  to  a  stop. 

"  I'm  not  going  in  just  yet,"  she  said,  glancing  up 
the  road  towards  her  house.  "  I'm  going  for  a 
walk." 

"  I  hope  it  will   be  a  pleasant  one,"  said  Wilson, 


go  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

after  a.  pause,  devoted  to  wondering  whether  he 
might,  venture  to  offer  to  accompany  her.  "Good- 
bye." He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Annis  ;  "  if  you  like  to  call  in 
and  wait  to  see  mother  she  will  be  pleased  to  see 
you,  I'm  sure." 

"  Is  there  anybody  to  let  me  in?  "  inquired  Wil- 
son. 

"  Mr.  Glover  is  there,  I  expect,"  said  Annis,  look- 
ing steadily  across  the  road. 

"  I — I'll  call  another  time,"  said  the  perplexed 
Wilson,  "  but  I  should  have  thought " 

"Thought  what?"  said  she. 

"  Nothin  Y '  said  he.  "  I Are  you  going  for  a 

long  walk  ?  " 

"  Not  very  far,"  said  she.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  prefer  going  alone  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  it,"  said  Annis  Gething ;  "  but  you 
can  come  if  you  like." 

They  turned  down  the  road  together,  and  for 
some  time  walked  on  in  silence. 

"  What  was  that  you  were  going  to  say  just  now  ?  " 
said  Annis,  when  the  silence  threatened  to  become 
awkward. 

"  When  ?  "  said  Wilson. 

"  When  I  told  you  that  Mr.  Glover  was  at  our 

house  you  said  you  should  have  thought "  She 

turned  and  regarded  him  with  an  expression  in  her 
eyes  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  decipher. 

"  Well,  I  should  have  thought,"  he  said  desper- 
ately, "  that  you  would  have  wanted  to  go  there." 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  91 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Annis  coldly.  "  I 
think  you  are  rather  rude." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Wilson  humbly  ;  "  I'm 
very  sorry,  very." 

There  was  another  long  silence,  during  which  they 
left  the  road  and  entered  a  footpath.  It  was  very 
narrow,  a,nd  Annis  walked  in  front. 

"  I  would  give  anything  to  find  your  father,"  said 
Wilson  earnestly. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  could,  I  wish  you  could,"  said 
Annis,  looking  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Glover  is  trying  all  he  can? "said 
Wilson. 

"  I  want  my  father  !  "  said  Annis  with  sudden  pas- 
sion — "  I  want  him  badly,  but  I  would  sooner  any- 
body  than  Mr.  Glover  found  him  ! " 

"  But  you  are  to  be  married  when  he  is  found," 
said  the  puzzled  Wilson. 

"If  Mr.  Glover  finds  him,"  said  Annis  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  the  skipper  (in  his 
excitement  he  caught  her  by  the  arm,  and  she  did  not 
release  it) — "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  not  go- 
ing to  marry  this  Glover  unless  he  finds  your  father  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Annis,  "that  is  the  arrangement. 
Mother  fretted  so,  and  I  thought  nothing  mattered 
much  if  we  could  only  find  my  father.  So  I  prom- 
ised." 

"And  I  suppose  if  anybody  else  finds  him?" 
faltered  Wilson,  as  with  a  ruthless  disregard  of 
growing  crops  he  walked  beside  her. 


92  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Annis,  looking  at  him  pleas- 
antly,  "  I  sha'n't  marry.  Is  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  quite  that,"  said  Wilson.  "  I  was 
going  to  say " 

"  There  ! "  said  Annis,  stopping  suddenly  and 
pointing,  "  isn't  there  a  fine  view  of  the  river  from 
here?" 

"  Splendid !  "  said  Wilson. 

"  It  is  my  favorite  walk,"  said  Annis. 

Wilson  made  a  mental  note  of  it.  "  Especially 
when  Mr.  Glover  is  at  your  house,"  he  said  foolishly. 

"  Mr.  Glover  has  been  very  kind,"  said  Annis 
gravely.  "  He  has  been  very  good  to  my  mother, 
and  he  has  gone  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  his 
search  for  my  father." 

"Well,  I  hope  he  doesn't  find  him,"  said  Wilson. 

Annis  turned  and  regarded  him  fixedly.  "  That  is 
very  kind  of  you,"  she  said  with  severity. 

"  I  want  to  find  him  myself,"  said  Wilson,  closely 
watching  the  river  ;  "  and  you  know  why." 

"  I  must  get  back,"  said  Annis,  without  contesting 
the  statement. 

Wilson  felt  his  courage  oozing,  and  tried  to  hint  at 
what  he  dared  not  say.  "  I  should  like  you  to  treat 
me  the  same  as  you  do  Mr.  Glover,"  he  said  nerv- 
ously. 

"  I'll  do  that  with  pleasure,"  said  Annis  promptly. 
In  spite  of  herself  her  lips  quivered  and  her  eyes 
danced. 

"  I've  loved   you  ever  since  the  first  time  I 
you  1 "  said  Wilson  with  sudden  vehemence. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  93 

Utterly  unprepared  for  this  direct  attack,  Miss 
Gething  had  no  weapon  to  meet  it.  The  tables  were 
turned,  and  reddening  with  confusion,  she  looked 
away  and  made  no  reply. 

"  I've  spent  days  walking  up  and  down  the  road 
the  school  is  in  because  you  were  there,"  continued 
Wilson.  "  I've  wondered  sometimes  that  the  school 
children  didn't  notice  it." 

Miss  Gething  turned  to  him  a  cheek  which  was  of 
the  richest  carmine,  "  If  it's  any  pleasure  to  you  to 
know  it,  they  did,"  she  said  viciously.  "  I  taught  one 
small  infant  the  blessing  of  silence  by  keeping  her  in 
three  afternoons." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  Wilson.  "You'll  have  to 
keep  the  whole  school  in  before  I  get  over  my  fond- 
ness  for  that  road.  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Suppose  we  get  back,"  said  Annis  coldly,  and 
turning,  walked  silently  beside  him.  Neither  spoke 
until  they  reached  the  lane  again,  and  then  Wilson 
stopped  and  met  her  gaze  full  and  fair.  Miss 
Gething,  after  a  brave  trial,  abandoned  the  contest 
and  lowered  her  eyes. 

"Will  you  serve  us  both  alike?"  said  Wilson  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  No,"  said  Annis.  She  looked  up  at  him  shyly 
and  smiled.  A  light  broke  in  upon  him,  and  seizing 
her  hand  he  drew  her  towards  him. 

"  No,"  said  Annis,  drawing  back  sharply ;  "  it 
wouldn't  be  right." 

Afraid  he  had  gone  too  far,  Wilson's  cowardice 
got  the  better  hand  again.  "  What  wouldn't  ?  "  he 


94  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

asked,  with  an  awkward  attempt  at  innocence.  A 
tiny  but  ominous  sparkle  in  Miss  Gething's  eye 
showed  her  opinion  of  this  unfairness. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  humbly. 

"What  for?  "asked  Miss  Gething  innocently  in 
her  turn. 

Soon  tired  of  devious  paths,  in  which  he  lost  him- 
self, Wilson  tried  a  direct  one  again.  "  For  trying 
to  kiss  you  and  then  pretending  I  didn't  know 
what  you  meant  when  you  refused,"  he  said 
bluntly. 

"  Captain  Wilson  !  "  said  Miss  Gething  breathlessly, 
"  I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Yes  you  do,"  said  Wilson  calmly. 

The  sparkle  came  in  Miss  Gething's  eye  again, 
then  she  bit  her  lip  and  turned  her  head  away 
miserably  realizing  her  inability  to  treat  this  trans- 
gressor with  the  severity  that  he  deserved. 

"  This  is  the  first  time  you  have  ever  said  things  of 
this  sort  to  a  girl,  I  should  think,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilson  simply. 

"  You  want  practice,"  said  Miss  Gething  scornfully 

"That's  just  what  I  do  want,"  said  Wilson  eagerly. 

He  was  moving  towards  her  again,  but  she  checked 
him  with  a  look. 

"  But  not  with  a  girl  who  is  half  engaged  to  another 
man,"  she  said,  regarding  him  with  soft  eyes ;  "  it 
isn't  right." 

"  Does  he  know  how  it  is  ? "  inquired  Wilson, 
referring,  of  course,  to  the  absent  Glover. 

Miss  Gething  nodded. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  95 

"  I  think  it's  quite  right  and  proper,  then,"  said 
Wilson. 

"  I  don't,"  said  Annis,  holding  out  her  hand.  "  111 
say  good-bye,"  she  said  steadily.  "  I  won't  see  you 
again  until  my  father  is  found.  If  Mr.  Glover  finds 
him  I  won't  see  you  at  all.  Good-bye. 

The  skipper  took  her  hand,  and  marvelling  at  his 
pluck,  drew  her,  resisting  slightly,  towards  him  again. 
Then  he  bent  his  head,  and,  with  the  assistance  of 
Miss  Gething,  kissed  the  brim  of  her  hat.  Then  she 
broke  from  him  and  ran  lightly  up  the  lane,  pausing 
at  the  end  to  stop  and  wave  her  hand  ere  she  dis- 
appeared. The  skipper  waved  his  in  return,  and 
glancing  boldly  at  a  horse  which  had  witnessed  all 
the  proceedings  from  over  the  hedge,  walked  back 
to  Northfleet  to  urge  his  dispirited  crew  to  still 
further  efforts. 


96  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

To  the  skipper's  surprise  and  disapproval  Annis 
kept  her  word.  To  be  sure  she  could  not  prevent 
him  meeting  her  in  the  road  when  the  schooner  was 
at  Northfleet,  his  attitude  when  she  tried  to,  being 
one  of  wilful  and  deliberate  defiance.  She  met  this 
disobedience  adeptly  by  taking  a  pupil  home  with 
her,  and  when  even  this  was  not  sufficient  added  to 
the  number.  The  day  on  which  she  appeared  in  the 
road  with  four  small  damsels  was  the  last  day  the 
skipper  accompanied  her.  He  could  only  walk  in 
front  or  behind  ;  the  conversation  was  severely  tech- 
nical, and  the  expression  on  the  small  girls'  faces  pre- 
cocious in  the  extreme. 

The  search  went  on  all  the  summer,  the  crew  of 
the  Seamew  causing  much  comment  at  the  various 
ports  by  walking  about  as  though  they  had  lost 
something.  They  all  got  to  wear  a  bereaved  appear- 
ance after  a  time,  which,  in  the  case  of  the  cook — 
who  had  risked  some  capital  in  the  affair — was  grad- 
ually converted  to  one  of  resignation. 

At  the  beginning  of  September  they  found  them- 
selves at  Ironbridge,  a  small  town  on  the  East  Coast, 
situated  on  the  river  Lebben.  As  usual,  the  skipper's 
inquiries  revealed  nothing.  Ironbridge  was  a  small 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  97 

place,  with  absolutely  nothing  to  conceal ;  but  it  was 
a  fine  day,  and  Henry,  who  disliked  extremely  the 
task  of  assisting  to  work  out  the  cargo,  obtained 
permission  to  go  ashore  to  purchase  a  few  small 
things  for  the  cook  and  look  round. 

He  strolled  along  blithely,  casting  a  glance  over 
his  shoulders  at  the  dusty  cloud  which  hung  over 
the  Seameiv  as  he  went.  It  was  virgin  soil  to  him, 
and  he  thirsted  for  adventure. 

The  town  contained  but  few  objects  of  interest. 
Before  the  advent  of  railways  it  had  been  a  thriving 
port  with  a  considerable  trade  ;  now  its  streets  were 
sleepy  and  its  wharves  deserted.  Besides  the  Seameiv 
the  only  other  craft  in  the  river  was  a  tiny  sloop, 
the  cargo  of  which  two  men  were  unloading  by 
means  of  a  basket  and  pulley  and  a  hand  truck. 

The  quietude  told  upon  Henry,  who,  after  a  mod- 
est half-pint,  lit  his  pipe  and  sauntered  along  the 
narrow  High  Street  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
A  short  walk  brought  him  to  the  white  hurdles  of 
the  desolate  market-place.  Here  the  town  as  a  town 
ended  and  gave  place  to  a  few  large  houses  standing 
in  their  own  grounds. 

"  Well,  give  me  London,"  said  Henry  to  himself 
as  he  paused  at  a  high  brick  wall  and  looked  at 
the  fruit  trees  beyond.  "  Why,  the  place  seems 
dead ! " 

He  scrambled  up  on  to  the  wall,  and,  perched  on 
the  top,  whistled  softly.  The  grown-up  flavor  of  half- 
pints  had  not  entirely  eradicated  a  youthful  partial- 
ity for  apples.  He  was  hidden  from  the  house  by 
7 


98  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

the  trees,  and  almost  involuntarily  he  dropped  down 
on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  and  began  to  fill  his 
pockets  with  the  fruit. 

Things  were  so  quiet  that  he  became  venturesome, 
and,  imitating  the  stealthy  movement  of  the  Red 
Indian,  whom  he  loved,  so  far  as  six  or  seven  pounds 
of  apples  would  allow  him,  made  his  way  to  a  large 
summer-house  and  peeped  in.  It  was  empty,  ex- 
cept for  a  table  and  a  couple  of  rough  benches,  and 
after  another  careful  look  round,  he  entered,  and 
seating  himself  on  the  bench,  tried  an  apple. 

He  was  roused  to  a  sense  of  the  danger  of  his 
position  by  footsteps  on  the  path  outside,  which, 
coming  nearer  and  nearer,  were  evidently  aimed  at 
the  summer-house.  With  a  silence  and  celerity  of 
which  any  brave  would  have  been  proud,  he  got 
under  the  table. 

*'  There  you  are,  you  naughty  little  girl,"  said  a 
woman's  voice.  "You  will  not  come  out  until  you 
know  your  rivers  perfectly." 

Somebody  was  pushed  into  the  summer-house, 
the  door  slammed  behind,  and  a  key  turned  in  the 
lock.  The  footsteps  retreated  again,  and  the  em- 
barrassed brave  realized  that  he  was  in  a  cruelly 
false  position,  his  very  life,  so  to  speak,  depending 
on  the  strength  a  small  girl's  scream. 

"  I  don't  care !  "  said  a  dogged  voice.  "  Bother 
your  rivers!  bother  your  rivers!  bother  your 
rivers !  *' 

The  owner  of  the  voice  sat  on  the  table  and  hum- 
med fiercely.  In  the  stress  of  mental  anguish  caused 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  99 

by  his  position,  Henry  made  a  miscalculation,  and 
in  turning  bumped  the  table  heavily  with  his  head. 

"  Ough  !  "  said  the  small  girl  breathlessly. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Henry,  popping  up 
humbly  ;  "  I  won't  hurt  you." 

"  Hoo  !  "  said  the  small  girl  in  a  flutter  ;  "  a  boy  !  " 

Henry  rose  and  seated  himself  respectfully,  cough- 
ing confusedly,  as  he  saw  the  small  girl's  gaze  riveted 
on  his  pockets. 

"What  have  you  got  in  your  pockets?"  she 
asked. 

"  Apples,"  said  Henry  softly.  "  I  bought  *em  in 
the  town." 

The  small  girl  extended  her  hand,  and  accepting 
a  couple,  inspected  them  carefully. 

"You're  a  bad,  wicked  boy  !"  she  said  seriously 
as  she  bit  into  one.  "  You'll  get  it  when  Miss  Dim- 
church  comes ! " 

"  Who's  Miss  Dimchurch  ?  "  inquired  Henry  with 
pardonable  curiosity. 

"  Schoolmistress,"  said  the  small  girl. 

"  Is  this  a  school  ?  "  said  Henry. 

The  small  girl,  her  mouth  full  of  apple,  nodded. 

"Any  men  here?"  inquired  Henry  with  an 
assumed  carelessness. 

The  small  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  You're  the  only  boy  I've  ever  seen  here,"  she 
.  said  gleefully.  "You'll  get  it  when  Miss  Dimchurch 
comes ! " 

His  mind  relieved  of  a  great  fear,  Henry  leaned 
back  and  smiled  confidently. 


loo  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  old  girl,"  he  said  quietly, 
as  he  pulled  out  his  pipe  and  filled  it. 

The  small  girl's  eyes  glistened  with  admiration. 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  boy,"  she  said  plaintively,  "  then 
I  shouldn't  mind  her.  Are  you  a  sailor-boy?  " 

"  Sailor,"  corrected  Henry  ;  "  yes." 

"  I  like  sailors,"  said  the  small  girl  amicably. 
"You  may  have  a  bite  of  my  apple  if  you  like." 

"  Never  mind,  thanks,"  said  Henry  hastily ;  "  I've 
got  a  clean  one  here." 

The  small  girl  drew  herself  up  and  eyed  him 
haughtily,  but  finding  that  he  was  not  looking  at  her 
resumed  her  apple. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  'Enery  Hatkins,"  replied  the  youth,  as  he  re- 
membered sundry  cautions  about  the  letter  h  he  had 
received  at  school.  "  What's  yours  ?  " 

"  Gertrude  Ursula  Florence  Harcourt,"  said  the 
small  girl,  sitting  up  straighter  to  say  it.  "  I  don't 
like  the  name  of  Atkins." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  said  Henry,  trying  not  to  show 
resentment.  "  I  don't  like  Gertrude,  or  Ursula,  or 
Florence,  and  Harcourt's  the  worst  of  all." 

Miss  Harcourt  drew  off  three  or  four  inches 
and  drummed  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  on  the 
table.  "  I  don't  care  what  you  like,"  she  said 
humming. 

"  I  like  Gerty,"  said  Henry  with  the  air  of  a  con- 
noisseur, as  he  looked  at  the  small  flushed  face.  "  I 
think  Gerty's  very  pretty." 

"  That's  what   they  always  call   me/'  said  Mis* 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  101 

Harcourt  carelessly.  "  Does  your  ship  go  right  out 
to  sea?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy.     They  had  been  blown  out 

to  sea  once,  and  he  salved  his  conscience  with  that. 

'  "  And  how  many   time.s,"  said  Gertrude  Ursula 

Florence    Harcourt,  getting  nearer  to   him   again, 

"have  you  had  fights  with  pirates?" 

She  left  absolutely  no  loophole.  If  she  had  asked 
him  whether  he  had  ever  fought  pirates  he  would 
have  said  "  No,"  though  that  would  have  been  hard 
with  her  little  excitable  face  turned  towards  his  and 
the  dark  blue  eyes  dancing  with  interest. 

"  I  forget  whether  it  was  six  or  seven,"  said  Henry 
Atkins.  "  I  think  it  was  only  six." 

"  Tell  us  all  about  them,"  said  Miss  Harcourt, 
shifting  with  excitement. 

Henry  took  a  bite  of  his  apple  and  started,  thank- 
ful that  a  taste  for  reading  of  a  thrilling  description 
had  furnished  him  with  material.  He  fought  ships 
in  a  way  which  even  admirals  had  never  thought  of, 
and  certainly  not  the  pirates,  who  were  invariably 
discomfited  by  the  ingenious  means  by  which  he 
enabled  virtue  to  triumph  over  sin.  Miss  Harcourt 
held  her  breath  with  pleasurable  terror,  and  tightened 
or  relaxed  the  grip  of  her  small  and  not  too  clean 
fingers  on  his  arm  as  the  narrative  proceeded. 

"  But  you  never  killed  a  man  yourself,"  said  she, 
when  he  had  finished.  There  was  an  inflection,  just 
a  slight  inflection,  of  voice,  which  Henry  thought 
undeserved  after  the  trouble  he  had  taken. 

"  I  can't  exactly  say,"  he  replied  shortly.     "  You 


102  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

see  in  the  //eat  " — he  got  it  right  that  time — "  in  the 
^eat  of  an  engagement  you  can't  be  sure." 

"  Of  course  you  can't,"  said  Miss  Harcourt,  re- 
penting  of  her  unreasonableness.  "  You  are  brave ! " 

Henry  blushed. 

"Are  you  an  officer ?"    inquired  Miss  Harcourt. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Henry,  wishing  somehow  that 
he  was. 

"  If  you  make  haste  and  become  an  officer  I'll 
marry  you  when  I  grow  up,"  said  Miss  Harcourt, 
smiling  on  him  kindly.  "  That  is  if  you  like,  of 
course." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  said  Henry  wistfully, 
"  I  didn't  mean  it  when  I  said  I  didn't  like  your 
names  just  now." 

"  You  shouldn't  have  told  stories,  then,"  said  Miss 
Harcourt  severely,  but  not  unkindly ;  "  I  can't  bear 
storytellers." 

The  conscience-stricken  Henry  groaned  inwardly, 
but,  reflecting  there  was  plenty  of  time  to  confess 
before  the  marriage,  brightened  up  again.  The 
"  Rivers  of  Europe  "  had  fallen  beneath  the  table, 
and  were  entirely  forgotten  until  the  sounds  of  many 
feet  and  many  voices  in  the  garden  recalled  them  to 
a  sense  of  their  position. 

"  Play-time,"  said  the  small  girl,  picking  up  her 
book  and  skipping  to  the  farthest  seat  possible  from 
Henry.  "  Thames,  Seine,  Danube,  Rhine." 

A  strong,  firm  step  stopped  outside  the  door,  and 
a  key  turned  in  the  lock.  The  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Miss  Dimchurch  peeping  in,  drew  back 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  103 

with  a  cry  of  surprise.  Behind  her  some  thirty  small 
girls,  who  saw  her  surprise,  but  not  the  reason  for  it, 
waited  eagerly  for  light. 

"  Miss  Harcourt !  "  said  the  principal  in  an  awful 
voice. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Harcourt  looking  up, 
with  her  finger  in  the  book  to  keep  the  place. 

"  How  dare  you  stay  in  here  with  this  person  ?  " 
demanded  the  principal. 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault,"  said  Miss  Harcourt,  work- 
ing up  a  whimper.  "  You  locked  me  in.  He  was 
here  when  I  came." 

"Why  didn't  you  call  after  me  ?"  demanded  Miss 
Dimchurch. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  here ;  he  was  under  the 
table,"  said  Miss  Harcourt. 

Miss  Dimchurch  turned  and  bestowed  a  terrible 
glance  upon  Henry,  who,  with  his  forgotten  pipe 
in  his  hand,  looked  uneasily  up  to  see  whether  he 
could  push  past  her.  Miss  Harcourt,  holding  her 
breath,  gazed  at  the  destroyer  of  pirates,  and 
waited  confidently  for  something  extraordinary  to 
happen. 

"  He's  been  stealing  my  apples ! "  said  Miss  Dim- 
church  tragically.  "  Where's  the  gymnasium  mis- 
tress ?  " 

The  gymnasium  mistress,  a  tall  pretty  girl,  was  just 
behind  her. 

"  Remove  that  horrid  boy,  Miss  O'Brien,"  said  the 
principal. 

"  Don't  worry,"  said  Henry,  try  ing  to  speak  calmly; 


104  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  I'll  go.  Stand  away  here.  I  don't  want  to  be  hard 
on  wimmin." 

"  Take  him  out,"  commanded  the  mistress. 

Miss  O'Brien,  pleased  at  this  opportunity  of  dis- 
playing her  powers,  entered,  and  squaring  her 
shoulders,  stood  over  the  intruder  in  much  the  same 
way  that  Henry  had  seen  barmen  stand  over  Sam. 

"Look  here,  now,"  he  said,  turning  pale;  "you 
drop  it.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you." 

He  placed  his  pipe  in  his  pocket,  and  rose  to  his 
feet  as  the  gymnasium  mistress  caught  him  in  her 
strong  slender  arms  and  raised  him  from  the  ground. 
Her  grip  was  like  steel,  and  a  babel  of  admiring 
young  voices  broke  upon  his  horrified  ears  as  his 
captor  marched  easily  with  him  down  the  garden, 
their  progress  marked  by  apples,  which  rolled  out  of 
his  pockets  and  bounded  along  the  ground. 

"  I  shall  kick  you,"  whispered  Henry  fiercely — 
ignoring  the  fact  that  both  legs  were  jammed  to- 
gether— as  he  caught  sight  of  the  pale,  bewildered 
little  face  of  Gertrude  U.  F.  Harcourt. 

"  Kick  away,"  said  Miss  O'Brien  sweetly,  and  using 
him  as  a  dumb-bell,  threw  in  a  gratuitous  gymnastic 
display  for  the  edification  of  her  pupils. 

"  If  you  come  here  again,  you  naughty  little  boy," 
said  Miss  Dimchurch,  who  was  heading  the  pro- 
cession behind,  "  I  shall  give  you  to  a  policeman. 
Open  the  gate,  girls !  " 

The  gate  was  open,  and  Henry,  half  dead  with 
shame,  was  thrust  into  the  road  in  full  view  of  the 
cook,  who  had  been  sent  out  in  search  of  him. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  105 

"Wot,  'Enery?"  said  the  cook  in  unbelieving 
accents  as  he  staggered  back,  aghast  at  the  spec- 
tacle— "  wotever  'ave  you  been  a-doin'  of?" 

"  He's  been  stealing  my  apples!  "  said  Miss  Dim- 
church  sternly.  "  If  I  catch  him  here  again  I  shall 
cane  him ! " 

"  Quite  right,  ma'am!  I  hope  he  hasn't  hurt  any- 
body," said  the  cook,  unable  to  realize  fully  the  dis- 
comfiture of  the  youth. 

Miss  Dimchurch  slammed  the  gate  and  left  the 
couple  standing  in  the  road.  The  cook  turned  and 
led  thfe  way  down  to  the  town  again,  accompanied  by 
the  crestfallen  Henry. 

"  'Ave  a  apple,  cook  ?  "  said  the  latter,  proffering 
one ;  "  I  saved  a  beauty  a-purpose  for  you." 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  the  cook. 

"  It  won't  bite  you  "  said  Henry  shortly. 

"  No,  and  I  won't  bite  it  either,"  replied  the  cook. 

They  continued  their  way  in  silence,  until  at  the 
market-place  Henry  paused  in  front  of  the  "  Farmer's 
Arms." 

"  Come  in  and  'ave  a  pint,  old  chap,"  he  said 
cordially. 

"  No,  thankee,"  said  the  cook  again.  "  It's  no  use, 
'Enery,  you  don't  git  over  me  in  that  way." 

"  Wot  d'ye  mean  ?  "  blustered  the  youth. 

"You  know,"  said  the  other  darkly. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Henry. 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  miss  tellin'  the  other  chaps,  no, 
not  for  six  pints,"  said  the  cook  cheerfully.  "  You're 
a  deep  un,  'Enery,  but  so  am  I." 


106  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Glad  you  told  me,"said  the  out-generalled  youth. 
"  Nobody'd  think  so  to  look  at  your  silly,  fat  face." 

The  cook  smiled  indulgently,  and,  going  aboard, 
left  his  youthful  charge  to  give  the  best  explanation 
he  could  of  his  absence  to  the  skipper — an  explana- 
tion which  was  marred  for  him  by  the  childish  be- 
havior  of  the  cook  at  the  other  end  of  the  ship,  who 
taking  the  part  of  Miss  O'Brien  for  himself,  gave 
that  of  Henry  to  a  cork  fender,  which,  when  it 
became  obstreperous — as  it  frequently  did  on  the 
slightest  provocation — he  slapped  vigorously,  giving 
sundry  falsetto  howls,  which  he  fondly  imagined 
were  in  good  imitation  of  Henry.  After  three 
encores  the  skipper  stepped  forward  for  enlighten- 
ment, returning  to  the  mate  with  a  grin  so  aggravat- 
ing that  the  sensitive  Henry  was  near  to  receiving 
a  thrashing  for  insubordination  of  the  most  imperti- 
nent nature. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  107 


CHAPTER  X. 

FROM  Ironbridge,  two  days  later,  they  sailed  with 
a  general  cargo  for  Stourwich,  the  Seamew  picking 
her  way  carefully  down  the  river  by  moonlight, 
followed  at  an  ever-increasing  distance  by  a  cork 
fender  of  abandoned  aspect. 

A  great  change  had  come  over  Henry,  and  an 
attitude  of  proud  reserve  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
careless  banter  with  which  he  usually  regaled  the 
crew.  He  married  Miss  O'Brien  in  imagination  to  a 
strong  man  of  villainous  temper  and  despotic  ideas, 
while  the  explanations  he  made  to  Miss  Harcourt 
were  too  ingenious  and  involved  to  be  confined 
in  the  space  of  a  single  chapter.  To  these  day- 
dreams, idle  though  he  knew  they  were,  he  turned 
as  a  welcome  relief  from  the  coarse  vulgarity  of  the 
crew. 

Sympathy  had  widened  his  ideas,  and  he  now  felt 
a  tender  but  mournful  interest  in  the  skipper's  affairs. 
He  read  aloud  to  himself  at  every  opportunity,  and 
aspirated  his  h's  until  he  made  his  throat  ache.  His 
aspirations  also  extended  to  his  conversation,  until 
at  last  the  mate  told  him  plainly  "  that  if  he  blew  in 
his  face  again  he'd  get  his  ears  boxed." 

They  passed  the  breakwater  and  dropped  anchor 


jo8  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

in  the  harbor  of  Stourwich  just  as  the  rising  sun 
was  glowing  red  on  the  steeple  of  the  town  church. 
The  narrow,  fishy  little  streets  leading  from  the  quay 
were  deserted,  except  for  one  lane,  down  which 
sleepy  passengers  were  coming  in  twos  and  threes 
to  catch  the  boat,  which  was  chafing  and  grinding 
against  the  timbers  of  the  jetty  and  pouring  from  its 
twin-funnels  dense  volumes  of  smoke  to  take  the 
sting  out  of  the  morning  air. 

Little  by  little  as  the  Seamew  who  was  not  quite 
certain  as  to  her  berth,  rode  at  anchor,  the  town  came 
to  life  again.  Men  of  marine  appearance,  in  baggy 
trousers  and  tight  jerseys,  came  slowly  on  to  the 
quay  and  stared  meditatively  at  the  water  or  shouted 
vehemently  at  other  men,  who  had  got  into  small 
boats  to  bale  them  out  with  rusty  cans.  From  some 
of  these  loungers,  after  much  shouting  and  contradic» 
-tory  information,  the  Scamew,  discovered  her  des- 
tination and  was  soon  fast  alongside. 

The  cargo — a  very  small  one — was  out  by  three 
o'clock  that  afternoon,  and  the  crew,  having  replaced 
the  hatches  and  cleaned  up,  went  ashore  together, 
after  extending  an  invitation  to  Henry — which  was 
coldly  declined — to  go  with  them. 

The  skipper  was  already  ashore,  and  the  boy,  after 
enduring  for  some  time  the  witticisms  of  the  mate, 
on  the  subject  of  apples,  went  too. 

For  some  time  he  wandered  aimlessly  about  the 
town,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  The  season  was 
drawing  to  an  end,  but  a  few  holiday-makers  were 
lounging  about  on  the  parade,  or  venturing  carefully 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  109 

along  the  dreary  breakwater  to  get  the  full  benefit  of 
the  sea  air.  Idly  watching  these  and  other  objects 
of  interest  on  the  sea-shore,  the  boy  drifted  on  until 
he  found  himself  at  the  adjoining  watering-place  of 
Overcourt. 

The  parade  ended  in  two  flights  of  steps,  one  of 
which  led  to  the  sands  and  the  other  to  the  road  and 
the  cliffs  above.  For  people  who  cared  for  neither, 
thoughtful  local  authorities  had  placed  a  long  seat, 
and  on  this  Henry  placed  himself  and  sat  for  some 
time,  regarding  with  the  lenity  of  age  the  erratic 
sports  of  the  children  below.  He  had  sat  there  for 
some  time  when  he  became  idly  interested  in  the 
movements  of  an  old  man  walking  along  the  sands  to 
the  steps.  Arrived  at  the  foot  he  disappeared  from 
sight,  then  a  huge  hand  gripped  the  handrail,  and  a 
peaked  cloth  cap  was  revealed  to  the  suddenly  inter- 
ested Henry,  for  the  face  of  the  old  man  was  the  face 
of  the  well-thumbed  photograph  in  the  foc'sle. 

Unconscious  of  the  wild  excitement  in  the  breast 
of  the  small  boy  on  the  seat,  the  old  man  paused  to 
take  breath  for  the  next  flight. 

"  Have  you — got  such  a  thing  as  a — as  a  match — 
about  you  ?  "  said  Henry,  trying  to  speak  calmly,  but 
failing. 

"You're  over  young  to  smoke,"  said  the  old  man, 
turning  round  and  regarding  him. 

At  any  other  time,  with  any  other  person,  Henry's 
retort  to  this  would  have  been  rude,  but  the  momen- 
tous events  which  depended  on  his  civility  restrained 
him. 


no  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  I  find  it  soothing,"  he  said  with  much  gravity, 
"  if  I  get  overworked  or  worried." 

The  old  man  regarded  him  with  unfeigned  aston- 
ishment, a  grim  smile  lurking  at  the  corners  of  his 
well-hidden  mouth. 

"  If  you  were  my  boy,"  he  said  shortly,  as  he  put 
his  forefinger  and  thumb  into  his  waistcoat  pocket 
and  extracted  a  time-stained  lucifer,  "  do  you  know 
what  I'd  do  to  you  ?  " 

"  Stop  me  smoking?"  hazarded  Henry  cheerfully. 

"  I  would  that,"  said  the  other,  turning  to  go. 

"  How  old  were  you  when  you  started  smoking?  " 
asked  the  boy. 

"About  your  age,  I  expect,"  said  the  old  man 
slowly  ;  "  but  I  was  a  much  bigger  chap  than  you 
are.  A  stunted  little  chap  like  you  ought  not  to 
smoke." 

Henry  smiled  wanly,  and  began  to  think  that  the 
five  pounds  would  be  well  earned. 

"  Will  you  have  a  pipe  ? "  he  said,  proffering  a 
gaudy  pouch. 

"  Confound  you  !  "  said  the  old  man,  flashing  into 
sudden  weak  anger.  "  When  I  want  your  tobacco 
I'll  ask  you  for  it." 

"  No  offence,"  said  the  boy  hastily,  "  no  offence. 
It's  some  I  bought  cheap,  and  our  chaps  said  I'd 
been  'ad.  I  only  wanted  to  see  what  you  thought 
of  it." 

The  old  man  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  taking 
the  seat  beside  him,  accepted  the  proffered  pouch 
and  smelt  the  contents  critically.  Then  he  drew  a 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  in 

small  black  clay  from  his  pocket  and  slowly  filled 
it. 

"  Smokes  all  right,"  he  said  after  a  few  puffs.  He 
leaned  back,  and  half  closing  his  eyes,  smoked  with 
the  enjoyment  of  an  old  smoker  to  whom  a  pipe  is 
a  somewhat  rare  luxury,  while  Henry  regarded  his 
shabby  clothes  and  much-patched  boots  with  great 
interest. 

"  Stranger  here  ?  "  inquired  the  old  man  amiably. 

"  Schooner  Seamew  down  in  the  harbor,"  said 
Henry,  indicating  the  distant  town  of  Stourwich 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  old  man,  and  smoked  in  silence. 

"  Got  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days,"  said  Henry, 
watching  him  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye ;  "  then 
back." 

"  London?"  suggested  the  other. 

"  Northfleet,"  said  Henry  carelessly,  "  that's  where 
we  came  from." 

The  old  man's  face  twitched  ever  so  slightly,  and 
he  blew  out  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  Do  you  live  there?"  he  inquired. 

"  Wapping,"  said  Henry  ;  "  but  I  know  Northfleet 
very  well — Gravesend  too.  Ever  been  there  ?  " 

"  Never,"  said  the  old  man  emphatically  ;  "  never." 

"  Rather  a  nice  place,  I  think,"  said  Henry ;  "  I 
like  it  better  than  Wapping.  We've  sailed  from 
there  a  year  now.  Our  skipper  is  fond  of  it  too. 
He's  rather  sweet  on  a  girl  who's  teacher  in  a  school 
there." 

"  What  school  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 


U2  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

The  boy  gave  a  slight  laugh.  "  Well,  it's  no  good 
telling  you  if  you  don't  know  the  place,"  he  said 
easily  ;  "  it's  a  girls'  school." 

"  I  used  to  know  a  man  that  lived  there,"  said  the 
other,  speaking  slowly  and  carefully.  "  What's  her 
name?" 

"  I  forget,"  said  the  boy,  yawning. 

Conversation  flagged,  and  the  two  sat  idly  watch- 
ing the  last  of  the  children  as  they  toiled  slowly  to- 
wards home  from  the  sands.  The  sun  had  set  and 
the  air  was  getting  chilly. 

"  I'll  be  getting  home,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Good- 
night, my  lad." 

"  Good-night  to  you,"  said  the  well-mannered 
Henry. 

He  watched  the  old  man's  still  strong  figure  as  it 
passed  slowly  up  the  steps,  and  allowing  him  to  get 
some  little  distance  start,  cautiously  followed.  He 
followed  him  up  the  steps  and  along  the  cliff,  the 
figure  in  front  never  halting  until  it  reached  a  small 
court  at  the  back  of  a  livery  stable ;  then,  heedless 
of  the  small  shadow,  now  very  close  behind,  it  pushed 
open  the  door  of  a  dirty  little  house  and  entered. 
The  shadow  crept  up  and  paused  irresolute,  and 
then,  after  a  careful  survey  of  the  place,  stole  silently 
and  swiftly  away. 

The  shadow,  choosing  the  road  because  it  was 
quicker,  now  danced  back  to  Stourwich,  and  jump- 
ing lightly  on  to  the  schooner,  came  behind  the  cook 
and  thumped  him  heavily  on  the  back.  Before  the 
cook  could  seize  him  he  had  passed  on  to  Sam,  and 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  113 

embracing  as  much  of  that  gentleman's  waist  as  pos- 
sible, vainly  besought  him  to  dance. 

"  'E's  off  'is  'ead,"  said  Sam,  shaking  himself  free 
and  regarding  him  unfavorably.  "  What's  wrong, 
kiddy  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Henry  jubilantly  ;  "  everything's 
right." 

"  More  happles  ? "  said  the  cook  with  a  nasty 
sneer. 

"  No,  it  ain't  apples,"  said  Henry  hotly  ;  "  you 
never  get  more  than  one  idea  at  a  time  into  that  'ead 
of  yours.  Where's  the  skipper?  I've  got  some- 
thing important  to  tell  'im — something  that'll  make 
'im  dance." 

"  Wot  is  it  ?  "  said  the  cook  and  Sam  together 
turning  pale. 

"  Now  don't  get  excited,"  said  Henry,  holding  up 
his  hand  warningly  ;  "  it's  bad  for  you,  Sam,  because 
you're  too  fat,  and  it's  bad  for  cookie  because  'is 
'ead's  weak.  You'll  know  all  in  good  time." 

He  walked  aft,  leaving  them  to  confer  uneasily  as 
to  the  cause  of  his  jubilant  condition,  and  hastily 
descending  the  companion  ladder,  burst  noisily  into 
the  cabin  and  surveyed  the  skipper  and  mate  with  a 
smile,  which  he  intended  should  be  full  of  informa- 
tion. Both  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  the  skipper, 
who  was  in  a  very  bad  temper,  half  rose  from  his 
seat. 

"  Where've  you  been,  you  young  rascal  ? "  he 
asked,  eyeing  him  sternly. 

"  Looking  around,"  said  Henry,  still  smiling  as  he 
8 


Ii4  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

thought  of  the  change  in  the  skipper's  manner  when 
he  should  disclose  his  information. 

"  This  is  the  second  time  you've  taken  yourself 
off,"  roared  the  other  angrily.  "  I've  half  a  mind  to 
give  you  the  soundest  thrashing  you  ever  had  in 
your  life." 

"  All  right,"  said  Henry,  somewhat  taken  aback. 
«  When " 

"  Don't  answer  me,  you  idle  young  rascal !  "  said 
the  skipper  sternly  ;  "  get  to  bed." 

"I  want  to "  began  Henry,  chilled  by  this 

order. 

"  Get  to  bed,"  repeated  the  skipper,  rising. 

"  Bed  ?  "  said  Henry,  as  his  face  hardened  ;  "  bed 
at  seven  o'clock  ?  " 

"  I'll  punish  you  somehow,"  said  the  skipper,  look- 
ing  from  him  to  the  cook  who  had  just  descended. 
"  Cook !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  cook  briskly. 

"  Put  that  boy  to  bed,"  said  the  other,  "  and  see 
he  goes  now." 

"  A'  right,  sir,"  said  the  grinning  cook.  "  Come 
along,  'Enery." 

With  a  pale  face  and  a  haughty  mien,  which  under 
other  circumstances  might  have  been  extremely  im- 
pressive, Henry,  after  an  entreating  glance  at  the 
skipper,  followed  him  up  the  steps. 

"  'E's  got  to  go  to  bed,"  said  the  cook  to  Sam 
and  Dick,  who  were  standing  together.  "  'E's  been 
naughty." 

*  Who  said  so  ?  "  asked  Sam  eagerly. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  115 

"  Skipper,"  replied  the  cook.  "  'E  told  me  we  wos 
to  put  him  to  bed  ourselves." 

"  You  needn't  trouble,"  said  Henry  stiffly  ;  "  I'll 
go  all  right." 

"  It's  no  trouble,"  said  Sam  oilily. 

"  It's  a  pleasure,"  said  Dick  truthfully. 

Arrived  at  the  scuttle,  Henry  halted,  and  with  an 
assumption  of  ease  he  was  far  from  feeling,  yawned, 
and  looked  round  at  the  night. 

"  Go  to  bed,"  said  Sam  reprovingly,  and  seizing 
him  in  his  stout  arms  passed  him  below  to  the  cook, 
feet  first,  as  the  cook  discovered  to  his  cost. 

"  'E  ought  to  be  bathed  first,"  said  Sam,  assum- 
ing the  direction  of  affairs  ;  "  and  it's  Monday  night, 
and  'e  ought  to  have  a  clean  nightgown  on." 

"  Is  'is  little  bed  made  ?  "  inquired  the  cook  anx- 
iously. 

"'Is  little  bed's  just  proper,"  said  Dick,  patting  it. 

"  We  won't  bathe  him  to-night,"  said  Sam,  as  he 
tied  a  towel  apron-wise  round  his  waist ;  "  it  'ud  be 
too  long  a  job.  Now,  'Enery,  come  on  to  my  lap." 

Aided  by  willing  arms,  he  took  the  youth  on  to 
his  knee,  and  despite  his  frantic  struggles,  began  to 
prepare  him  for  his  slumbers.  At  the  pressing  re- 
quest of  the  cook  he  removed  the  victim's  boots 
first,  and,  as  Dick  said,  it  was  surprising  what  a  dif- 
ference it  made.  Then  having  washed  the  boy's 
face  with  soap  and  flannel,  he  lifted  him  into  his 
berth,  grinning  respectfully  up  at  the  face  of  the 
mate  as  it  peered  down  from  the  scuttle  with  keen 
enjoyment  of  the  scene. 


n6  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Is  the  boy  asleep  ?  "  he  inquired  aggravatingly, 
as  Henry's  arms  and  legs  shot  out  of  the  berth  in 
mad  attempts  to  reach  his  tormentors. 

"  Sleeping  like  a  little  hangel,  sir  ! "  said  Sam  re- 
spectfully. "  Would  you  like  to  come  down  and  see 
he's  all  right,  sir?" 

"  Bless  him  !  "  said  the  grinning  mate. 

He  went  off,  and  Henry,  making  the  best  of  a  bad 
job,  closed  his  eyes  and  refused  to  be  drawn  into 
replying  to  the  jests  of  the  men.  Ever  since  he  had 
been  on  the  schooner  he  had  been  free  from  punish- 
ment of  all  kinds  by  the  strict  order  of  the  skipper — 
a  situation  of  which  he  had  taken  the  fullest  advan- 
tage. Now  his  power  was  shaken,  and  he  lay  grind- 
ing his  teeth  as  he  thought  of  the  indignity  to  which 
he  had  been  subjected. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  117 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HE  resolved  that  he  would  keep  his  discovery  to 
himself.  It  was  an  expensive  luxury,  but  he  deter- 
mined to  indulge  in  it,  and  months  or  years  later 
perhaps  he  would  allow  the  skipper  to  learn  what  he 
had  lost  by  his  overbearing  brutality.  Somewhat 
soothed  by  this  idea,  he  fell  asleep. 

His  determination,  which  was  strong  when  he 
arose,  weakened  somewhat  as  the  morning  wore  on. 
The  skipper,  who  had  thought  no  more  of  the 
matter  after  giving  his  hasty  instructions  to  the 
cook,  was  in  a  soft  and  amiable  mood,  and,  as  Henry 
said  to  himself  fifty  times  in  the  course  of  the  morn- 
ing, five  pounds  was  five  pounds.  By  the  time  ten 
o'clock  came  he  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and  with 
a  full  sense  of  the  favor  he  was  about  to  confer,  he 
approached  the  unconscious  skipper. 

Before  he  could  speak  he  was  startled  by  a  com- 
motion on  the  quay,  and  looking  up,  saw  the  cook, 
who  had  gone  ashore  for  vegetables,  coming  full  tilt 
towards  the  ship.  He  appeared  to  be  laboring 
under  strong  excitement,  and  bumped  passers-by 
and  dropped  cabbages  with  equal  unconcern. 

"  What  on  earth's  the  matter  with  the  cook,"  said 
the  skipper,  as  the  men  suspended  work  to  gaze  on 


u8  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

the  approaching  figure.  "  What's  wrong  ?  "  he  de- 
manded sharply,  as  the  cook,  giving  a  tremendous 
leap  on  board,  rushed  up  and  spluttered  in  his  ear. 

"  What  ?  "  he  repeated. 

The  cook,  with  his  hand  on  his  distressed  chest, 
gasped  for  breath. 

"  Cap-tain  Gething  !  "  panted  the  cook  at  last,  re- 
covering his  breath  with  an  effort.  "  Round  the — 
corner." 

Almost  as  excited  as  the  cook,  the  skipper  sprang 
ashore  and  hurried  along  the  quay  with  him,  vio- 
lently shaking  off  certain  respectable  citizens  who 
sought  to  detain  the  cook,  and  ask  him  what  he 
meant  by  it. 

"  I  expect  you've  made  a  mistake,"  said  the  skip- 
per, as  they  rapidly  reached  the  small  street.  "  Don't 
run — we  shall  have  a  crowd." 

"  If  it  wasn't  'im  it  was  his  twin  brother,"  said  the 
cook.  "Ah,  there  he  is !  That's  the  man  !  " 

He  pointed  to  Henry's  acquaintance  of  the  pre- 
vious day,  who,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  was 
walking  listlessly  along  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

"You  get  back,"  said  the  skipper  hurriedly. 
"  You'd  better  run  a  little,  then  these  staring  idiots 
'11  follow  you." 

The  cook  complied,  and  the  curious,  seeing  that 
he  appeared  to  be  the  more  irrational  of  the  two, 
and  far  more  likely  to  get  into  mischief,  set  off  in 
pursuit.  The  skipper  crossed  the  road,  and  began 
gently  to  overtake  his  quarry. 

He  passed  him,  and  looking  back,  regarded  him 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 


119 


unobserved.  The  likeness  was  unmistakable,  and 
for  a  few  seconds  he  kept  on  his  way  in  doubt  how 
to  proceed.  Then  he  stopped,  and  turning  round, 
waited  till  the  old  man  should  come  up  to  him. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"  Morning,"  said  the  old  man,  half  stopping. 

"  I'm  in  a  bit  of  a  difficulty,"  said  the  skipper 
laughing.  "  I've  got  a  message  to  deliver  to  a  man 
in  this  place  and  I  can't  find  him.  I  wonder  whether 
you  could  help  me." 

"  What's  his  name  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  Captain  Gething,"  said  the  skipper. 

The  old  man  started,  and  his  face  changed  to  an 
unwholesome  white.  "  I  never  heard  of  him,"  he 
muttered,  thickly,  trying  to  pass  on. 

"  Nobody  else  seems  to  have  heard  of  him  either," 
said  the  skipper,  turning  with  him  ;  "  that's  the 
difficulty." 

He  waited  for  a  reply,  but  none  came.  The  old 
man,  with  set  face,  walked  on  rapidly. 

"  He's  supposed  to  be  in  hiding,"  continued  the 
skipper.  "  If  you  should  ever  run  across  him  you 
might  tell  him  that  his  wife  and  daughter  Annis 
have  been  wanting  news  of  him  for  five  years,  and 
that  he's  making  all  this  trouble  and  fuss  about  a 
man  who  is  as  well  and  hearty  as  I  am.  Good- 
morning.", 

The  old  man  stopped  abruptly,  and  taking  his 
outstretched  hand,  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  Tell  him — the — man — is  alive  ?  "  he  said  in  a 
trembling  voice. 


120  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Just  that,"  said  the  skipper  gently,  and  seeing 
the  working  of  the  other's  face,  looked  away.  For 
a  little  while  they  both  stood  silent,  then  the  skip- 
per spoke  again. 

"  If  I  take  you  back,"  he  said,  "  I  am  to  marry 
your  daughter  Annis."  He  put  his  hand  on  the  old 
man's,  and  without  a  word  the  old  man  turned  and 
went  with  him. 

They  walked  back  slowly  towards  the  harbor,  the 
young  man  talking,  the  old  man  listening.  Outside 
the  post  office  the  skipper  came  to  a  sudden  stop. 

"  How  would  it  be  to  send  a  wire  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  old  man  eagerly,  as  he  followed 
him  in,  "  it  would  be  the  very  thing." 

He  stood  watching  attentively  as  the  skipper  tore 
up  form  after  form,  meditatively  sucking  the  chained 
lead  pencil  with  a  view  to  inspiration  between 
whiles.  Captain  Gething,  as  an  illiterate,  had  every 
sympathy  with  one  involved  in  the  throes  of  writing, 
and  for  some  time  watched  his  efforts  in  respectful 
silence.  After  the  fifth  form  had  rolled  a  little 
crumpled  ball  on  to  the  floor,  however,  he  inter- 
posed. 

"  I  can't  think  how  to  put  it,"  said  the  skipper 
apologetically.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  too  sudden, 
you  know." 

"  Just  so,"  said  the  other,  and  stood  watching  him 
until,  with  a  smile  of  triumph  twitching  the  corners 
of  his  mouth,  the  skipper  bent  down  and  hastily 
scrawled  off  a  message. 

"  You've  done  it  ?  "  he  said  with  relief. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  12 1 

"  How  does  this  strike  you  ?  "  asked  the  skipper 
reading.  "  Your  father  sends  love  to  you  both." 

"  Beautiful,"  murmured  Captain  Gething. 

"  Not  too  sudden,"  said  the  skipper  ;  "  it  doesn't 
say  I've  found  you,  or  anything  of  that  sort ;  only 
hints  at  it.  I'm  proud  of  it." 

"  You  ought  to  be,"  said  Captain  Gething,  who 
was  in  the  mood  to  be  pleased  with  anything. 
"Lord,  how  pleased  they'll  be,  poor  dears!  I'm 
ashamed  to  face  'em.'' 

"  Stuff  !  "  said  the  skipper,  who  was  in  high  spirits, 
as  he  clapped  him  on  the  back.  "  What  you  want 
is  a  good  stiff  drink." 

He  led  him  into  a  neighboring  bar,  and  a  little 
later  the  crew  of  the  schooner,  who  had  been  casting 
anxious  and  curious  glances  up  the  quay,  saw  the 
couple  approaching  them.  Both  captains  were  smok- 
ing big  cigars  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  and  Captain 
Gething,  before  going  on  board,  halted,  and  in  warm 
terms  noticed  the  appearance  of  the  Seamew. 

The  crew,  pausing  in  their  labors,  looked  on  ex- 
pectantly as  they  reached  the  deck.  On  the  cook's 
face  was  a  benevolent  and  proprietary  smile,  while 
Henry  concealed  his  anguish  of  soul  under  an  ap- 
pearance of  stoic  calm. 

"  This  is  the  man,"  said  the  skipper,  putting  his 
hand  on  the  cook's  shoulder,  "  this  is  the  man  that 
found  you,  cap'n.  Smartest  and  best  chap  I  ever 
had  sail  with  me !  " 

Flushed  with  these  praises,  but  feeling  that  he  fully 
deserved  them,  the  cook  took  the  hand  which  Cap- 


122  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

tain  Gething,  after  a  short  struggle  with  the  traditions 
of  ship  masters,  extended,  and  shook  it  vigorously. 
Having  once  started,  he  shook  hands  all  round, 
winding  up  with  the  reluctant  Henry. 

"  Why,  I've  seen  this  boy  before,"  he  said,  start- 
ing. "Had  a  chat  with  him  yesterday.  That's 
what  brought  me  down  here  to-day,  to  see  whether 
I  couldn't  find  him  again." 

"  Well  I'm  hanged  !  "  said  the  astonished  skipper. 
"  He's  as  sharp  as  needles  as  a  rule.  What  were  you 
doing  with  your  eyes,  Henry?  " 

In  an  agony  of  mortification  and  rage,  as  he  saw 
the  joy  depicted  on  the  faces  of  the  crew,  the  boy  let 
the  question  pass.  -The  cook,  at  the  skipper's  invita- 
tion, followed  him  below,  his  reappearance  being  the 
signal  for  anxious  inquiries  on  the  part  cf  his  friends. 
He  answered  them  by  slapping  his  pocket,  and  then 
thrusting  his  hand  in  produced  five  gold  pieces. 
At  first  it  was  all  congratulations,  then  Sam,  after  a 
short,  hard,  cough,  struck  a  jarring  note. 

"  Don't  you  wish  now  as  you'd  joined  the  syndikit, 
Dick  ?  "  he  asked  boldly. 

"  Wot  f  "  said  the  cook,  hastily  replacing  the  coins. 

"  I  arst  'im  whether  he  was  sorry  'e  'adn't  joined 
us,"  said  Sam,  trying  to  speak  calmly. 

The  cook  threw  out  his  hand  and  looked  round 
appealingly  to  the  landscape  to  bear  witness  to  this 
appalling  attempt  at  brigandage. 

"  You  needn't  look  like  that,"  said  Sam.  "  Two 
pun  ten's  wot  I  want  of  you,  an*  I'll  take  it  afore 
you  lose  it." 


• 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  123 

Then  the  cook  found  words,  and  with  Dick  and 
Henry  for  audience  made  an  impassioned  speech  in 
defence  of  vested  interests  and  the  sacred  rights  of 
property.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  fluent  or 
so  inventive,  and  when  he  wound  up  a  noble  passage 
on  the  rights  of  the  individual,  in  which  he  alluded 
to  Sam  as  a  fat  sharper,  he  felt  that  his  case  was 
won. 

"  Two  pun  ten,"  said  Sam,  glowering  at  him. 

The  cook,  moistening  his  lips  with  his  tongue, 
resumed  his  discourse. 

"  Two  pun  ten,"  said  Sam  again ;  "  an'  I  don't 
know  what  you're  goin'  to  do  with  your  half,  but 
I'm  goin'  to  give  ten  bob  to  Dick." 

"  Why  don't  you  give  the  man  his  money  ?  "  said 
Dick  warmly. 

"  Becos  the  syndikit  'ad  all  fell  through,"  said  the 
cook.  "  The  syndikit  was  only  a  syndikit  when 
we  was  both  looking  for  'im  together.  If  the  syn- 
dikit " 

"  That's  enough  about  'em,"  said  Dick  impa- 
tiently ;  "  give  the  man  'is  money.  Everybody 
knows  you  was  goin'  shares.  I'm  ashamed  of  you, 
cook,  I  wouldn't  have  thought  it  of  you." 

It  ended  in  simple  division,  Dick  taking  what  was 
over  on  Sam's  side  and  more  than  hinting  that  he 
was  ready  to  do  the  cook  a  similar  service.  The 
cook  turned  a  deaf  ear,  however,  and  declining  in 
emphatic  language  to  step  ashore  and  take  some- 
thing,  went  and  sulked  in  the  galley. 

At  dinner-time  a  telegram  came  from  Annis,  and 


124  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

the  next  morning  brought  a  letter  from  her  which  the 
skipper  read  aloud  to  the  proud  father.  He  read  it 
somewhat  jerkily,  omitting  sentences  and  halves  of 
sentences  which  he  thought  might  not  interest  the 
old  man,  or  perhaps,  what  was  more  likely,  would 
interest  him  a  great  deal.  After  that  they  were  all 
busy  taking  in  the  cargo,  Captain  Gething,  in  shirt 
and  trousers,  insisting  upon  lending  a  hand. 

The  cargo  was  all  in  by  five  o'clock  and  the  hatches 
down.  Below  in  the  cabin  the  two  captains  and  the 
mate  sat  over  a  substantial  tea. 

"  Get  away  about  three,  I  s'pose  ?  "  said  the  mate. 

The  skipper  nodded. 

"  Get  away  about  three,"  he  repeated,  "  and  then 
for  Northfleet.  I'll  have  all  the  hands  to  the  wed« 
ding,  and  you  shall  be  best  ma:.,  Jim." 

"  And  Henry  '11  be  a  little  page  in  white  satin 
knickers  holding  up  the  bride's  train,"  said  the  mate, 
spluttering  at  the  picture  he  had  conjured  up. 

They  all  laughed — all  except  Henry,  who,  having 
come  down  with  some  hot  water  from  the  galley, 
surveyed  the  ribald  scene  with  a  scarcely  concealed 
sneer. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  skipper  and  mate  went 
ashore  to  transact  a  little  business,  leaving  the  old 
man  smoking  peacefully  in  the  cabin.  The  crew, 
having  adjusted  their  differences,  had  already  gone 
ashore  to  treat  each  other  to  beer,  leaving  Henry  in 
sole  charge. 

"  You'll  stay  by  the  ship,  boy,"  said  the  skipper, 
looking  down  on  him  from  the  quay. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  125 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  Henry  sulkily. 

The  two  men  walked  along  the  quay  and  into  the 
High  Street,  the  skipper  shrugging  his  shoulders 
good-naturedly  as  he  caught,  through  a  half-open 
door,  a  glimpse  of  his  crew  settling  down  to  busi- 
ness. It  was  an  example  that  in  the  circumstances 
seemed  to  be  worth  following,  and  at  the  next  pub- 
lic-house the  mate,  sacrificing  his  inclinations  to  the 
occasion,  drank  port  wine  instead  of  his  favorite 
whisky.  For  the  same  reason  he  put  his  pipe  back 
in  his  pocket  and  accepted  a  cigar,  and  then  followed 
his  superior  into  the  street. 

"  Where's  a  likely  tailor's?  "  asked  the  skipper, 
looking  round. 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  the  mate. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  some  things  for  Cap'n  Gething," 
said  the  other.  "  He's  hardly  the  figure  to  meet  his 
family  as  he  is." 

"  Why  didn't  you  bring  him  with  us?  "  asked  the. 
mate.  "  How  about  a  fit  ?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  hear  of  it,"  said  the  skipper,  paus- 
ing in  deep  contemplation  of  three  wax  boys  in  a 
tailor's  window.  "  He's  an  independent  sort  of 
man  ;  but  if  I  buy  the  clothes  and  take  'em  aboard 
he  can  hardly  refuse  to  wear  'em." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  shop  and  asked  to  see 
some  serge  suits.  At  the  mate's  instigation  he  asked 
to  see  some  more.  At  the  mate's  further  instigation 
he  asked  whether  that  was  all  they  had  got,  and  be- 
ing told  that  it  was,  looked  at  them  all  over  again. 
It  is  ever  a  difficult  thing  to  fit  an  absent  man, 


I26  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

but  he  and  the  mate  tried  on  every  jacket  in  the  hope 
of  finding  a  golden  mean,  until  the  mate,  dropping 
his  lighted  cigar  in  the  coat-sleeve  of  one,  and  not 
finding  it  as  soon  as  the  tailor  could  have  desired,  the 
latter  lost  all  patience  and  insisted  upon  their  taking 
that  one. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  the  mate,  as  they  left  the 
shop  with  the  parcel ;  "  it's  only  the  lining.  I'd 
fixed  my  mind  on  that  one,  too,  from  the  first." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  say  so,  then?  "said  the 
skipper. 

"  Got  it  cheaper,"  said  the  mate,  with  a  wink. 
"  I'd  bet  you,  if  it  could  only  be  known,  if  we'd 
been  suited  at  first  he'd  ha'  wanted  ten  bob  more 
for  it." 

It  was  quite  dark  by  now,  and  after  buying  a  cap 
and  one  or  two  other  small  articles,  the  mate  led  the 
way  into  a  tavern  for  another  drink. 

"  There's  no  hurry,"  he  said,  putting  his  share  of 
bundles  on  the  table  with  some  relief.  "  What's  your 
poison  this  time,  cap'n  ?  " 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  127 


CHAPTER   XII. 

IN  less  rapid  times,  before  the  invention  of  the 
electric  telegraph  and  other  scientific  luxuries,  Cap- 
tain Gething  would  have  remained  quietly  on  board 
the  Seameiv,  and  been  delivered  to  his  expectant 
family  without  any  further  trouble.  As  it  was,  the 
message  in  which  Captain  Wilson  took  such  pride, 
reached  Mrs.  Gething  just  as  Mr.  Glover — who  had 
been  sitting  in  her  parlor  all  the  afternoon,  listen, 
ing  as  patiently  as  he  could  to  her  somewhat  unin- 
teresting  conversation — was  on  the  point  of  depart- 
ure. The  effect  on  him  was  hardly  less  marked  than 
on  his  hostess,  and  he  went  on  his  way  to  the  rail- 
way station  in  a  condition  in  which  rage  and  jeal- 
ousy strove  for  the  mastery.  All  the  way  to  town 
he  pondered  over  ways  and  means  to  wrest  from  his 
rival  the  prize  which  he  had  won,  and  by  the  time 
the  train  had  reached  Fenchurch  Street  he  had 
hatched  as  pleasant  a  little  plot  as  ever  occurred  to 
a  man,  most  of  whose  existence  had  been  spent 
amid  the  blameless  surroundings  of  ladies'  hosiery. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  was  sitting  in  the  dingy  fur- 
nished apartments  of  a  friend  of  his  who  lived  in  a 
small  house  off  the  Walworth  Road. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor,  Tillotson,"  he  said 
to  the  unkempt-looking  tenant. 


128  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson,  sticking 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  warming  himself  com- 
fortably at  a  fire-stove  ornament  trimmed  with  red 
paper  roses — "  if  I  can,  you  know." 

"  It  is  a  great  favor,"  said  Glover. 

Mr.  Tillotson,  looking  very  despondent,  said,  of 
course,  that  would  please  him  more. 

"  I  wouldn't  ask  anybody  but  you  to  do  it,"  said 
the  wily  Glover.  "  If  it  comes  off  all  right  I  will  get 
you  that  berth  you  asked  me  for  at  Leatham  and 
Roberts'." 

"  It's  coming  off,  then,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson,  bright- 
ening visibly.  "  If  you  will  wait  a  minute — if  the 
girl  is  in  I  will  ask  her  if  she  will  go  and  get  us 
something  to  drink." 

"  I  had  better  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  Mr. 
Glover,  as,  all  the  "  ifs  "  having  been  triumphantly 
surmounted,  he  helped  himself  from  a  small  flat 
bottle  of  whiskey ;  "  it  won't  take  long." 

He  lit  his  pipe,  and,  plunging  into  his  story, 
finished  it  without  interruption. 

"  You  are  a  deep  one,  Glover,"  said  his  admiring 
friend  when  he  had  finished.  "  I  thought  you  had 
been  very  smart  lately — not  but  what  you  were 
always  a  dressy  man,"  he  added  thoughtfully. 

"  I  believe  in  keeping  my  own  things  to  myself," 
said  Glover. 

"  And  this  bargee  has  got  the  old  un,"  said 
Tillotson,  using  the  terms  Glover  had  employed  in 
his  narrative.  "  I  don't  see  what  is  to  be  done, 
Glover." 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  129 

"  I  want  to  get  him  away,"  said  the  other.  "  If  I 
can't  find  him,  nobody  else  shall,  and  I  want  you  to 
help  me." 

"  Go  down  to  Stounvich,  tie  him  up  in  a  sack,  and 
drown  him,  I  suppose,"  said  Tillotson,  trying  to  live 
up  to  a  reputation  several  lady  friends  had  bestowed 
upon  him  of  being  sarcastic. 

"  Can  you  get  away  to-morrow  ? "  demanded 
Glover  impatiently. 

"  I  am  as  free  as  the  birds  of  the  air,"  responded 
Tillotson  gloomily  ;  "  the  only  difference  is,  nobody 
puts  out  crumbs  for  me." 

"  I  can  reckon  on  you,  then,"  said  Glover.  "  I 
thought  I  could.  We  have  known  each  other  a  long 
time,  Tillotson.  There  is  nothing  like  an  old  friend 
when  one  is  in  trouble." 

Mr.  Tillotson  assented  modestly.  "  You  won't 
forget  about  Leatham  and  Roberts?"  he  said. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Glover.  "  You  see,  it  wonH: 
do  to  be  seen  in  this  thing  myself.  What  I  want 
you  to  do  is  to  .come  down  with  me  to  Stourwich 
and  bring  the  old  man  to  London ;  then  I  can  find 
him  at  my  own  time,  in  the  street  or  anywhere, 
quite  haphazard  like." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  how  it  is  to  be  done,"  said 
Tillotson. 

"  Meet  me  to-morrow  morning  at  Waterloo,  at 
ten  minutes  past  eight,"  said  Glover,  finishing  his 
glass  and  rising ;  "  and  we  will  have  a  try,  at  any 
rate." 

He  shook  hands  with  his  friend,  and  following  him 
9 


I3o  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

down  the  uncarpeted  stairs,  said  a  few  words  at  the 
door  in  favor  of  early  rising,  and  departed  to  his 
place  of  business  to  make  his  own  arrangements 
about  the  morrow. 

He  was  at  the  station  and  in  the  train  first  in  the 
morning,  Mr.  Tillotson  turning  up  with  that  extreme 
punctuality  which  enables  a  man  to  catch  his  train 
before  it  has  got  up  full  speed. 

"  I  was  half  afraid  at  one  time  that  I  shouldn't 
have  done  it,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson,  in  self-congratu- 
lation, as  he  fell  on  to  the  seat.  "  Smoker,  too ! 
Couldn't  have  done  better  if  I  had  been  here  at 
seven  o'clock." 

His  friend  grunted,  and,  there  being  nobody  else 
in  the  carriage,  began  at  once  to  discuss  the  practical 
part  of  the  business. 

"  If  he  could  only  read  we  might  send  a  letter 
aboard  to  him,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson,  pushing  his  hat 
back.  "  The  idea  of  a  man  his  age  not  being  able 
to!" 

"  He's  one  of  the  old  school,"  said  Glover. 

"  Funny  sort  of  school,"  said  Tillotson  flippantly. 
0  Well,  we  must  take  our  chance  of  him  going  for  a 
walk,  I  suppose." 

They  reached  Stourwich  soon  after  midday,  and 
Glover,  keeping  a  wary  look  out  for  Wilson,  pro- 
ceeded slowly  to  the  quay  with  his  friend,  leaving 
the  latter  to  walk  down  and  discover  the  schooner 
while  he  went  and  hired  a  first-floor  room  at  the 
"  Royal  Porpoise,"  a  little  bow-windowed  tavern 
facing  the  harbor. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  131 

"  That's  the  one,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson,  as  he  joined 
his  friend  upstairs  and  led  him  to  the  window  ;  "  that 
little  craft  there.  See  that  old  chap  working  with 
the  rest  ?  " 

Mr.  Glover,  who  was  focussing  a  pair  of  cheap 
field-glasses  on  to  the  schooner,  gave  a  little  excla- 
mation of  surprise. 

"That's  him,  sure  enough,"  he  said,  putting  down 
the  glasses.  "  Now  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

At  Tillotson's  suggestion  they  had  some  dinner, 
and  Glover  fumed  the  afternoon  away,  while  his 
friend  hung  about  the  quay.  After  tea  his  im- 
patience got  the  better  of  his  caution,  and,  pulling 
his  hat  over  his  eyes,  he  went  on  the  quay  too. 
Fifty  yards  beyond  the  Seamew  he  found  a  post, 
and  leaning  against  it  with  his  friend,  anxiously 
watched  the  deck  of  the  schooner. 

"  There's  three  of  'em  going  ashore,"  said  Tillotson 
suddenly.  "  Look  !  " 

They  watched  breathlessly  as  the  crew  walked 
slowly  off,  and,  dusk  coming  on,  approached  a  little 
closer. 

"There's  that  fellow  Wilson,"  said  Glover,  in  a 
whisper.  "  Don't  look  !  " 

"  Well,  what's  the  use  of  telling  me  ?  "  said  Tillotson 
reasonably. 

"  He's  going  ashore  with  another  chap,"  continued 
Glover  excitedly — "  the  mate,  I  expect.  Now's  your 
chance.  Get  him  away,  and  I'll  stand  you  something 
handsome — upon  my  soul  I  will !  " 

"  What   do  you  call  something  handsome  ?  "  in« 


13«  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

quired  Tillotson,  whose  pulse  was  not  so  feverish  as 
nis  friend's. 

"  Get  him  safe  to  London  and  I'll  stand  a  fiver," 
said  Glover.  "  Now  go.  I'll  stay  here." 

Mr.  Tillotson,  having  got  matters  on  a  business 
footing,  went,  and,  carelessly  twisting  his  small 
moustache,  slowly  approached  the  schooner,  on  the 
deck  of  which  was  a  small  boy. 

"  Is  Captain  Gething  aboard,  old  man  ?"  inquired 
3VIr.  Tillotson,  in  a  friendly  voice. 

"  Down  the  cabin,  I  b'lieve,"  said  Henry,  jerking 
his  thumb. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson. 

"  I've  got  no  objection,"  said  Henry. 

Charmed  with  his  success,  Mr.  Tillotson  stepped 
aboard  and  looked  carelessly  round. 

"  He's  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  he  said  confidentially. 
"  What's  that  you're  smoking  ?  " 

"  Shag,"  was  the  reply. 

"Try  a  cigar,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson,  producing  three 
in  an  envelope.  "  You'll  find  them  rather  good." 

The  gratified  Henry  took  one,  and,  first  crackling  it 
against  his  ear,  smelt  it  knowingly,  while  Mr.  Tillot- 
son,  in  a  leisurely  fashion,  descended  to  the  cabin. 

A  tea-tray  and  an  untidy  litter  of  cups  and  saucers 
stood  on  the  table,  at  the  end  of  which  sat  an  old 
man  with  his  folded  hands  resting  on  the  table. 

"  Good-evening,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson,  pausing  at  the 
doorway  and  peering  through  the  gloom  to  make 
sure  that  there  was  nobody  else  present.  "  All 
alone  ?  " 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  135 

"  All  alone,"  repeated  Captain  Gething,  looking  up 
and  wondering  who  this  might  be. 

"  It's  too  dark  to  see  you  far,"  said  Tillotson,.  in  a 
mysterious  whisper,  "  but  it's  Captain  Gething,  ain't 
it?" 

"  That's  me,"  said  the  Captain  uneasily. 

"  Going  to  Northfleet  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Tillotson  in 
another  whisper. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  the  captain  quick- 
ly,  as  he  gripped  the  edges  of  the  table. 

"Are  you  sure  it'll  be  all  right?"  continued 
Tillotson. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  repeated  the  captain  from 
his  seat.  "  Speak  plain." 

"  I  mean  that  you  had  better  bolt,"  said  Tillotson 
in  a  hurried  whisper.  "  There's  a  heavy  reward  out 
for  you,  which  Captain  Wilson  wants.  You  can't  do 
what  you  did  for  nothing,  you  know." 

Captain  Gething  sat  down  in  his  seat  again  and 
shaded  his  face  with  his  hand. 

"  I'll  go  back,"  he  said  brokenly.  "  Wilson  told  me 
he  was  alive,  and  that  it  was  all  a  mistake.  If  he's 
lying  to  me  for  the  price  of  my  old  neck,  let  him 
have  it." 

"  What  about  your  wife  and  daughter  ?  "  said  Tillot- 
son, who  was  beginning  to  have  a  strong  disrelish  for 
his  task.  "  I  saw  in  the  paper  last  night  that  Wil- 
son had  got  you.  He's  gone  ashore  now  to  make 
arrangements  at  the  station." 

"  He  had  a  letter  from  my  daughter  this  morning, 
said  the  old  man  brokenly. 


134  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  He  told  you  it  was  from  her,"  said  Tillotson. 
**  Get  your  things  and  come  quick." 

Excited  by  the  part  he  was  playing,  he  bent  for- 
ward and  clutched  at  the  old  man's  arm.  Captain 
Gething,  obedient  to  the  touch,  rose,  and  taking  his 
battered  cap  from  a  nail,  followed  him  in  silence 
above. 

"  We're  going  for  a  drink,"  said  Tillotson  to  the 
boy.  "  We'll  be  back  in  ten  minutes." 

"  All  right,"  said  Henry  cheerfully ;  "  wish  I  was 
going  with  you." 

The  other  laughed  airily,  and  gaining  the  quay, 
set  off  with  the  silent  old  man  by  his  side.  At 
first  the  captain  went  listlessly  enough,  but  as  he 
got  farther  and  farther  from  the  ship  all  the  feel- 
ings of  the  hunted  animal  awoke  within  him,  and 
he  was  as  eager  to  escape  as  Tillotson  could  have 
wished. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?"  he  inquired  as  they  came 
in  sight  of  the  railway  station.  "  I'm  not  going  by 
train." 

"  London,"  said  Tillotson.  "  That's  the  most  like- 
ly place  to  get  lost  in." 

"  I'm  not  going  in  the  train,"  said  the  other  dog- 
gedly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Tillotson  in  surprise. 

"  When  they  come  back  to  the  ship  and  find  me 
gone  they'll  telegraph  to  London,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  I  won't  be  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  then  ?  "  inquired  the 
perplexed  Tillotson. 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  135 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Walk,  I  think. 
It's  dark,  and  we  might  get  twenty  miles  away  before 
daybreak." 

"  Yes,  we  might,"  said  Tillotson,  who  had  no  fancy 
for  a  nocturnal  pilgrimage  of  the  kind  ;  "  but  we're 
not  going  to." 

"  Let  me  go  alone,"  said  the  old  man. 

Tillotson  shook  his  head. 

"  They'd  be  bound  to  spot  you  tramping  about  the 
country,"  he  said  confidently.  "  Now  do  let  me  know 
what's  best  for  you,  and  go  by  train." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Gething  obstinately.  "  You've 
been  very  kind,  more  than  kind,  in  giving  me  warn- 
ing. Let  me  go  off  by  myself." 

Tillotson  shook  his  head  and  glanced  carelessly  in 
the  direction  of  Glover,  who  was  some  few  yards 
behind. 

"  I  wish  you'd  trust  me,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  You'll  be  safer  in  London  than  anywhere." 

Captain  Gething  pondered.  "  There's  a  schooner 
about  half  a  mile  up  the  river,  which  is  getting 
away  about  one  o'clock  this  morning,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  I've  worked  on  her  once  or  twice,  and  the  skipper 
might  take  us  if  you  can  pay  him  well.  He  knows 
me  as  Stroud." 

"  If  you'll  wait  here  a  minute  or  two  I'll  go  to  the 
railway  station  and  get  my  bag,"  said  Tillotson,  who 
wanted  to  confer  with  his  chief. 

"  I'll  wait  up  the  road  under  the  arch,"  said  Cap- 
tain Gething. 

"  Now  don't  run  away,"   said  Tillotson   impres- 


336  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

sively.  "  If  you  won't  go  by  train,  perhaps  the 
schooner  is  the  best  thing  we  can  do." 

He  set  off  to  the  station,  and  after  a  hurried  con- 
sultation with  Glover,  returned  anxiously  to  the 
arch.  Gething,  standing  in  the  shadow  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  was  patiently  waiting. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Tillotson  cheerfully  ;  "  and 
now  for  a  sea  voyage.  You  know  the  way  to  the 
schooner,  I  suppose." 

They  made  their  way  back  cautiously,  Captain 
Gething  turning  off  to  the  left  before  they  reached 
the  harbor  and  leading  the  way  through  dingy  little 
streets  of  private  houses  and  chandlers'  shops.  It 
was  not  a  part  usually  frequented  by  people  taking 
an  evening  stroll,  and  Henry,  who  had  begun  to  get 
uneasy  at  their  absence,  and  starting  in  search  of 
them  had  picked  them  up  at  the  corner,  followed 
wondering. 

His  wonder  increased  as  they  left  the  houses  and 
met  the  cool  air  blowing  from  the  river.  The  road 
was  dark  and  uneven,  and  he  followed  cautiously, 
just  keeping  them  in  sight,  until  at  a  tumble-down 
little  wharf  they  halted,  and  after  a  low  consultation, 
boarded  a  small  schooner  lying  alongside.  There 
was  nobody  on  the  deck,  but  a  light  showed  in  the 
eabin,  and  after  a  minute's  hesitation  they  went 
below. 

An  hour  or  two  passed,  and  the  small  watcher, 
ensconced  behind  a  pile  of  empties,  shivered  with 
the  cold.  Unconscious  of  the  amicable  overtures  in 
the  cabin,  which  had  resulted  in  the  master  of  the 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  137 

Frolic  taking  a  couple  of  cabin  passengers  who  were 
quite  willing  to  rough  it  in  the  matter  of  food  and 
accommodation,  and  willing  to  pay  for  it,  he  was 
afraid  to  desert  his  post.  Another  hour  passed.  A 
couple  of  seamen  came  by  his  place  of  concealment, 
and  stepping  aboard,  went  down  the  foc'sle.  A 
clock  struck  eleven,  and  a  few  minutes  later  the 
light  in  the  cabin  was  extinguished. 

The  boy  watched  another  quarter  of  an  hour  and 
then,  the  ship  being  dark  and  still,  crept  noiselessly 
on  board.  The  sound  of  deep  snoring  came  from 
the  cabin,  and  gaining  the  wharf  again,  he  set  off  as 
hard  as  he  could  run  to  the  Seamew. 


138  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WILSON  and  the  mate  returned  to  the  ship  laden 
with  their  spoils,  and  pitching  them  on  board  first, 
descended  themselves  by  a  slower  but  pleasanter 
method. 

"  I  expect  our  chaps  are  all  ashore  still,"  said  the 
mate,  looking  round.  "  Pretty  state  they'll  be  in  for 
a  start.  I  suppose  the  boy's  down  with  the  cap'n." 

"  Just  go  down  and  send  him  up,"  said  the  skip- 
per ;  it's  rather  a  delicate  thing  to  do  to  give  a  man 
a  suit  of  clothes.  I  don't  want  anybody  standing 
round." 

"  There's  no  light,"  said  the  mate,  looking  to- 
wards the  skylight.  He  went  below  and  felt  his  way 
into  the  cabin. 

"  All  in  the  dark  ?  "  he  said  cheerfully. 

There  was  no  reply.  He  fumbled  about  in  the 
darkness  for  the  matches,  and  having  obtained 
them,  struck  a  light  and  looked  round.  The  cabin 
was  empty.  He  opened  the  door  of  the  state-room 
and  peered  in ;  that  too  was  empty. 

"  He  must  have  gone  for  a  walk  with  the  boy," 
said  the  skipper  uneasily  when  he  returned  with  the 
news. 

He  took  up  the  parcel  again  and  went  below, 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  139 

followed  by  the  mate,  and  for  some  time  sat  silently 
smoking. 

"  Nine  o'clock,"  said  the  mate  at  last  in  conster- 
nation as  the  little  clock  tinkled  the  hour.  "  That 
confounded  boy's  not  up  to  any  mischief,  I  s'pose  ? 
He's  been  in  a  devil  of  a  temper  the  last  day  or  two." 

"  I  don't  see  what  mischief  he  could  do,"  pon- 
dered the  other,  knitting  his  brows. 

"  Look's  to  me  as  if  he's  spirited  him  away,"  con- 
tinued the  mate.  "  I'll  go  ashore  and  have  a  look 
round  and  see  whether  I  can  see  anything  of  them." 

He  took  his  cap  from  the  locker  and  went.  An 
hour  elapsed,  and  the  skipper,  a  prey  to  great  anx- 
iety, went  up  on  deck. 

The  shops  had  closed,  and  with  the  exception  of 
the  street  lamps,  the  town  was  in  darkness  and  the 
streets  silent,  except  for  a  chance  wayfarer.  Two  or 
three  seamen  came  up  the  quay  and  went  aboard 
the  steamer  in  the  next  berth.  A  woman  came 
slowly  along,  peering  in  an  uncertain  fashion  at 
the  various  craft,  and  shrinking  back  as  a  seaman 
passed  her.  Abreast  of  the  Seamew  she  stopped, 
and  in  the  same  doubtful  manner  looked  down  on  the 
deck.  The  skipper  crossed  to  the  side,  and  straining 
his  eyes  through  the  gloom,  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Is  this  the  Seamew  ? "  inquired  a  fresh  girlish 
voice. 

"  Annis ! "  shouted  the  astounded  skipper. 
"  Annis  ! " 

He  ran  up  the  rigging,  and  stepping  on  to  the 
quay  seized  her  hand.  Then  he  drew  her  unresist- 


140  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

ingly  towards  him  and  was  in  the  act  of  passing  his 
arm  round  her  waist  when  he  remembered  his  po- 
sition and  drew  back  awkwardly. 

"  Come  on  board,"  he  said  gently. 

He  straddled  from  the  quay  to  the  rigging,  and 
extending  his  hand  in  the  midst  of  a  perfect  silence, 
helped  her  to  the  deck. 

"  Where  is  my  father  ?  "  she  said  eagerly. 

Wilson  made  no  reply. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  repeated. 

Wilson  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  said 
gloomily,  "  I  don't  know.  He  was  here  an  hour  or 
two  ago.  He  was  here  yesterday." 

She  caught  his  arm  breathlessly. 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  What  have  you  done  with 
him?" 

Wilson  told  her  all  he  knew  and  having  finished, 
watched  her  anxiously  as  she  drew  back  a  little  and 
tapped  on  the  deck  with  her  foot. 

A  badly-blended  chorus,  making  up  in  strength 
what  it  lacked  in  harmony,  sounded  on  the  quay, 
and  gradually  coming  nearer,  stopped  at  the  Seamew 
for  a  final  shout.  The  finale  was  rendered  by  the 
cook  and  Dick  with  much  vehemence,  while  Sam, 
excited  by  his  potations,  danced  madly  before  them. 

"  Silence  up  there  !  "  shouted  the  skipper  sternly, 
as  Ann  is  shrank  away. 

"  A'  right,  sir, "  hiccupped  Dick  solemnly.  "  I'm 
lookin'  after  them.  Mind  how  you  break  your  neck, 
Sam." 

Thus  adjured,  Sam  balanced  himself  on  the  edge 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  141 

of  the  quay,  and  executing  a  double  shuffle  on  the 
very  brink  of  it  by  way  of  showing  his  complete 
mastery  over  his  feet,  fell  into  the  rigging  and  de- 
scended. He  was  followed  by  Dick  and  the  cook, 
both  drunk,  and  both  preternaturally  solemn. 

"  Get  below,"  said  the  skipper  sharply. 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  Dick,  with  a  lurch.  "  Come  on, 
Sam,  we — ain't  wanted — here." 

"It's  all  your  damned  dancing,  Sam '."said  the 
cook — who  had  ever  an  eye  for  beauty — plaintively. 

"Will  you,  get  below?"  roared  the  maddened 
skipper,  giving  him  a  push. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  he  said,  turning  to  Annis  as 
they  disappeared  ;  "  everything  seems  to  be  going 
wrong  to-night." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  she  said  coldly.  "  Good- 
night." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Wilson. 

"  Going  to  find  a  hotel,"  said  Annis  ;  "  there's  no 
train  back  to-night." 

"  Take  the  cabin,"  he  said  entreatingly,  "  I  and 
the  mate'll  sleep  for'ard." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Annis. 

She  stepped  to  the  side,  and,  assisted  by  the  skip, 
per,  clambered  up  on  to  the  quay  again.  The  mate 
came  up  at  the  moment  and  stood  eyeing  her  cu- 
riously 

"  This  is  Miss  Gething,"  said  the  skipper  slowly. 
"  Any  news?  " 

"  None,"  said  the  mate  solemnly  ;  "  they've  van- 
ished  like  smoke." 


i42  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Is  it  certain,"  asked  Annis,  addressing  him, 
"  that  it  was  my  father  ?  " 

The  mate  looked  at  the  skipper  and  pushed  his 
cap  back.  "  We  had  no  reason  to  think  otherwise," 
he  said  shortly.  "  It's  a  mystery  to  me  altogether. 
He  can't  have  gone  home  by  train  because  he  had 
no  money." 

"  It  couldn't  have  been  my  father,"  said  Annis 
slowly.  "  Somebody  has  been  deceiving  you. 
Good-night.  I  will  come  round  in  the  morning  ;  it  is 
getting  late." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  inquired  the  mate. 

"  She's  going  to  look  for  a  hotel,"  said  the  skip- 
per, answering  for  her. 

"  It's  late,"  said  the  mate  dubiously,  "  and  this 
isn't  much  of  a  place  for  hotels.  Why  not  take  her 
to  the  woman  where  her  father  has  been  staying  ? 
You  said  she  seemed  a  decent  sort." 

"  It's  a  poor  place,"  began  the  other. 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Annis  decidedly  ;  "  if  it  was 
good  enough  for  my  father  it  is  good  enough  for 
me.  If  it  wasn't  my  father  I  may  learn  something 
about  him.  Is  it  far  ?  " 

"  Two  miles,"  said  the  mate. 

"  We'd  better  start  at  once,  then,"  said  the  skip- 
per, moving  a  step  or  two  by  way  of  example. 

"  And  perhaps  you'll  walk  down  too,"  said  Annis 
to  the  mate. 

It  went  to  the  mate's  heart  to  do  it,  but  he  was  a 
staunch  friend.  "  No,  I  think  I'll  turn  in,"  he  said, 
blushing  at  his  rudeness  ;  "I'm  tired." 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  143 

He  lifted  his  cap  awkwardly  and  descended.  An- 
nis,  with  her  head  at  an  uncomfortable  altitude,  set 
off  with  the  skipper. 

"  I'm  sorry  the  mate  wouldn't  come,"  said  the  latter 
stiffly. 

After  this  they  went  on  in  silence  along  the  quiet 
road,  Miss  Gething  realizing  instinctively  that  the 
man  by  her  side  had  got  a  temper  equal  to  at  least  a 
dozen  of  her  own.  This  made  her  walk  a  little  closer 
to  him,  and  once,  ever  so  lightly,  her  hand  brushed 
against  his.  The  skipper  put  his  hands  in  his  jacket 
pockets. 

They  reached  the  late  habitation  of  the  myste- 
rious Captain  Gething  without  another  word  having 
been  spoken  on  the  journey.  The  mews  was  unin- 
viting enough  by  daylight,  by  night  it  was  worse. 
The  body  of  a  defunct  four-wheeler  blocked  up  half 
the  entrance,  and  a  retriever  came  out  of  his  kennel 
at  the  other  end  and  barked  savagely. 

"  That's  the  house,"  said  Wilson,  indicating  it — 
"  number  five.  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

For  Miss  Gething,  after  making  little  dabs  with 
her  handkerchief  at  lips  which  did  not  require  the 
attention,  was  furtively  applying  it  to  eyes  which 
4id. 

"  I'm  tired,"  she  said  softly — "  tired  and  disap- 
pointed." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  before  Wilson 
had  quite  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do,  moved 
proudly  away  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  number 
five.  It  was  opened  after  some  delay  by  an  untidy 


144  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

woman  in  crackers  and  a  few  other  things,  who  hav- 
ing listened  to  the  skipper's  explanation,  admitted 
Miss  Gething  to  her  father's  room.  She  then  saw 
the  skipper  to  the  door  again,  and  having  wished 
him  a  somewhat  grim  good-night,  closed  the  door. 

He  walked  back  as  sharply  as  he  could  to  the 
schooner,  his  mind  in  a  whirl  with  the  events  of  the 
evening,  and  as  he  neared  the  quay  broke  into  a  run, 
in  awkward  imitation  of  a  small  figure  approaching 
from  the  opposite  direction. 

"  You  little  vagabond  !  "  he  panted,  seizing  him 
by  the  collar  as  they  reached  the  schooner  to- 
gether. 

"  A'  right,"  said  Henry ;  "  'ave  it  your  own  way 
then." 

"  Drop  him  overboard,"  said  the  mate,  who  was 
standing  on  the  deck. 

Henry  indulged  in  a  glance  of  contempt — made 
safe  by  the  darkness — at  this  partisan,  and  with  the 
air  of  one  who  knows  that  he  has  an  interesting  yarn 
to  spin,  began  at  the  beginning  and  worked  slowly  up 
for  his  effects.  The  expediency  of  brevity  and  point 
was  then  tersely  pointed  out  to  him  by  both  listeners, 
the  highly  feminine  trait  of  desiring  the  last  page 
first  being  strongly  manifested. 

"  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it,"  said  the  skipper, 
after  the  artist  had  spoilt  his  tale  to  suit  his  public. 
"  He's  taken  fright  at  something  or  other.  Well, 
we'll  go  after  him." 

"They're  getting  away  at  about  one,"  said 'the 
mate ;  "  and  suppose  he  won't  come,  what  are  you 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  145 

going  to  do  then  ?  After  all,  it  mightn't  be  her 
father.  Damned  unsatisfactory  I  call  it !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  the  bewildered 
skipper  ;  u  I  don't  know  what's  best." 

"  Well,  it  ain't  my  business,"  said  Henry,  who  had 
been  standing  by  silently  ;  "  but  I  know  what  I 
should  do." 

Both  men  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"  I  may  be  a  young  vagabond,"  said  Henry,  enjoy, 
ing  to  the  full  this  tribute  to  his  powers — "  p'raps  I 
am.  I  may  be  put  to  bed  by  a  set  of  grinning  idiots  ; 
I  may " 

"  What  would  you  do,  Henry  ?  "  asked  the  skipper 
very  quietly. 

"  Go  back  an'  fetch  Miss  Gething,  o'  course,"  said 
the  boy,  "  an'  take  her  down  to  the  ship.  That'll 
settle  it." 

"  By  Jove  !  the  boy's  right,"  said  the  mate—"  if 
there's  time." 

But  the  skipper  had  already  started. 

"  You're  a  very  good  boy,  Henry,"  said  the  mate 
approvingly.  "  Now  go  down  and  watch  the  Frolic 
again,  and  as  soon  as  she  starts  getting  under  way 
run  back  and  let  us  know.  If  she  passes  before  he 
comes  back  I'll  hail  her  and  try  and  find  out  what  it 
all  means." 

Meantime  the  skipper,  half  walking,  half  running, 
went  on  his  way  to  Overcourt,  arriving  at  Stagg's 
Gardens  in  a  breathless  condition.  Number  five  was 
fast  asleep  when  he  reached  it  and  began  a  violent 
thumping  upon  the  door. 


146  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

"  Who's  there  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded 
a  shrill  voice  as  the  window  was  thrown  up  and  a 
female  head  protruded. 

"  I  want  to  see  that  young  lady  I  brought  here  a 
little  while  ago,"  said  the  skipper — "  quick." 

"  What,  at  this  time  o'  night !  "  said  the  lady. 
"  Be  reasonable,  young  man,  if  you  are  sweetheart, 
ing." 

"  Something  important,"  said  the  skipper  impa- 
tiently." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  "  said  the  lady,  who 
felt  that  she  was  in  a  position  to  have  her  curiosity 
satisfied. 

"  Tell  her  I've  got  news  of  her  father,"  said  the 
skipper,  restraining  himself  with  difficulty. 

The  head  disappeared  and  the  window  was  closed. 
After  what  seemed  an  hour  to  the  impatient  man,  he 
heard  a  step  in  the  passage,  the  door  opened,  and 
Annis  stood  before  him. 

With  a  very  few  words  they  were  walking  together 
again  down  the  road,  Annis  listening  to  his  story  as 
they  went.  It  was  a  long  way,  and  she  was  already 
tired,  but  she  refused  the  offer  of  her  companion's 
arm  with  a  spirit  which  showed  that  she  had  not  for- 
gotten the  previous  journey.  As  they  neared  the 
Seamew  the  skipper's  spirits  sank,  for  the  mate,  who 
was  watching,  ran  out  to  meet  them. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said  sympathetically ;  "  she's 
under  way.  Shall  we  hail  her  as  she  goes  by  ?  " 

The  skipper,  leaving  Annis  unceremoniously  on  the 
quay,  sprang  aboard  and  peered  anxiously  down  the 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  147 

river.  The  night  was  starlit,  and  he  could  just  dis- 
cern a  craft  coming  slowly  towards  them. 

"  Hoist  a  couple  of  lanterns,  Jack,  and  call  the 
crew  up  quickly,"  he  cried  to  the  mate. 

"  What  for  ?  "  said  the  other  in  astonishment. 

"You  light  "em,"  cried  the  skipper  excitedly. 
"  Henry,  help  me  off  with  these  hatches." 

He  was  down  on  his  knees  with  the  boy  unfasten- 
ing them,  while  the  mate,  having  lit  a  lantern,  ran 
forward  to  rouse  the  men.  The  Frolic  was  now  but 
twenty  yards  astern. 

"  Ahoy !  schooner,  ahoy !  "  bawled  Wilson,  running 
suddenly  to  the  side. 

"  Halloa !  "  came  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  Are  you  full  up  ?  "  shouted  the  master  of  the 
Seamew. 

"  No,"  came  the  roar  again. 

"  Drop  your  anchor  and  come  alongside,"  shouted 
the  skipper,  "  I've  got  to  stay  here  another  week,  and 
I've  got  a  dozen  barrels  o'  herring  must  be  in  Lon- 
don before  then." 

The  Frolic  was  abreast  of  them,  and  he  held  his 
breath  with  suspense. 

"  It  won't  take  you  half  an  hour,"  he  shouted 
anxiously. 

The  grating  of  the  cable  was  music  in  his  ears  as 
it  ran  out,  and  hardly  able  to  believe  in  the  success 
of  his  scheme  he  saw  the  crew  taking  in  the  sail  they 
had  just  begun  to  set.  Ten  minutes  later  the  Frolic 
was  rubbing  against  his  side. 

The  hatches  were  off  the  Seamew,  and  a  lantern 


j48  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

swinging  in  her  hold  shed  a  sickly  light  upon  the 
sleepy  faces  of  her  crew.  The  mate  was  at  the  foc'sle 
whispering  instructions  to  Annis. 

"  Look  alive,"  said  the  master  of  the  Frolic,  "  I'll 
just  take  'em  on  deck  for  the  present." 

He  came  fussily  to  the  side  to  superintend,  gazing 
curiously  at  Annis,  who  was  standing  watching  the 
operations. 

"  What  a  nice  ship  !  "  she  said.  "  May  I  come  on 
board  ?  " 

"  You're  quite  welcome  if  you  don't  get  in  the 
way,"  was  the  reply. 

Accepting  this  qualified  permission,  Annis  stepped 
on  board  and  walked  quietly  round  the  deck.  At 
the  companion  she  paused  and  looked  round.  Every- 
body was  busy  ;  and  trembling  with  nervousness,  she 
hesitated  a  moment  and  then  descended  into  the  dark 
cabin. 

"  That  you,  captain  ?  "  said  a  voice.  "  What  are 
we  stopping  for?" 

Annis  made  no  reply. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  said  the  voice  again. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Annis. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Tillotson  shortly. 
"  What's  wrong  ?  " 

Annis  hesitated,  waiting  to  hear  another  voice,  but 
in  vain.  She  fancied  that  she  heard  another  person 
breathing,  but  that  was  all. 

"Father!"  she  cried,  suddenly.  "It's  me  I 
Annis !  Where'  are  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  great  shout  from  the  other  side  of  the 


THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING.  149 

cabin,  and  in  the  gloom  she  saw  something  spring  up 
and  come  towards  her.  Something  which  caught  her 
in  a  mighty  grasp  and  crushed  her  soft  face  against 
a  long,  stiff  beard.  Laughing  and  crying  together 
she  put  her  arms  about  its  neck  and  clung  to  it  con- 
vulsively. 

"  There,  there,  my  lass  !  "  said  Captain  Gething  at 
last. 

"  We  only  stopped  you  by  a  miracle,"  said  Annis 
hysterically.  "  The  Seamew  is  alongside,  and  why 
you  wanted  to  run  away  again  I  don't  know." 

"  I  don't  '  understand,"  said  Captain  Gething 
wearily. 

"  You  can  understand  that  /  wouldn't  take  you 
into  danger,"  said  Annis  tenderly.  "  Put  your  coat 
on  and  come  with  me." 

Without  another  word  Captain  Gething  did  as  he 
was  bid.  He  stopped,  as  though  to  speak  to  Tillot- 
son,  and  then  thinking  better  of  it,  followed  his 
daughter  on  deck. 

"  I'm  not  coming  with  you,  cap'n,"  he  said  as  that 
ardent  mariner  passed  them  rolling  a  barrel  along  the 
deck. 

"A*  right,"  said  the  other  briefly;  "you  won't 
get  your  money  back." 

In  a  shamefaced  fashion  Captain  Gething,  still 
holding  his  daughter's  arm,  stepped  on  board  the 
Seamew  and  shook  hands  with  its  master.  By  the 
time  he  was  half  through  his  story  there  was  a  burn- 
ing desire  on  the  part  of  the  skipper  to  go  down  and 
have  a  look  at  Tillotson — a  desire  peremptorily 


j5o  THE  SKIPPER'S  WOOING. 

checked  by  Annis,  who  had  an  erroneous  opinion 
concerning  that  gentleman's  identity,  and  the  Frolic 
having  taken  in  its  herrings,  sheered  off  with  a 
friendly  good-night.  The  crew  of  the  Seamew 
watched  her  until  she  had  her  anchor  up,  and  then, 
at  the  impatient  suggestion  of  Henry,  who  was  stage 
managing,  went  below. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  now  ?  "  inquired  Wilson  in  a 
low  voice,  as  Captain  Gething,  with  a  wisdom  born 
of  years,  went  slowly  below. 

"  Quite,"  breathed  Annis  softly. 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Wilson,  in  tones  full  of  meaning. 

Miss  Gething  smiled,  and  leaning  against  the  side 
surveyed,  with  some  interest,  the  dark  water  and  the 
sleeping  town.  She  did  not  move  when  Wilson 
came  and  stood  by  her,  and  when  he  took  her  hand, 
made  no  protest. 

"  I'm  not  satisfied — yet,"  said  Wilson,  raising  her 
hand  to  his  lips. 

His  eye  caught  the  two  lanterns  which  were  burn- 
ing  somewhat  garishly,  and  crossing  over,  he  took 
them  down  and  blew  them  out.  He  turned  suddenly 
at  the  sound  of  a  smothered  laugh,  a  moment  too 
late.  Annis  Gething  had  gone  below. 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  shop  of  Solomon  Hyams  stood  in  a  small 
thoroughfare  branching  off  the  Commercial  Road. 
In  its  windows  unredeemed  pledges  of  all  kinds,  from 
old-time  watches  to  seamen's  boots,  appealed  to  all 
tastes  and  requirements.  Bundles  of  cigars,  can- 
didly described  as  "  wonderful,"  were  marked  at 
absurdly  low  figures,  while  silver  watches  endeavored 
to  excuse  the  clumsiness  of  their  make  by  describing 
themselves  as  "  strong  workmen's."  The  side  en- 
trance, up  a  narrow  alley,  was  surmounted  by  the 
usual  three  brass  balls,  and  here  Mr.  Hyams'  clients 
were  wont  to  call.  They  entered  as  optimists, 
smiled  confidently  upon  Mr.  Hyams,  argued,  pro- 
tested shrilly,  and  left  the  establishment  pessimists 
of  a  most  pronounced  and  virulent  type. 

None  of  these  things,  however,  disturbed  the 
pawnbroker.  The  drunken  client  who  endeavored 
to  bail  out  his  Sunday  clothes  with  a  tram  ticket 
was  accommodated  with  a  chair,  while  the  assistant 
went  to  hunt  up  his  friends  and  contract  for  a  speedy 


152  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

removal ;  the  old  woman  who,  with  a  view  of  obtain- 
ing a  higher  advance  than  usual,  poured  a  tale 
of  grievous  woe  into  the  hardened  ears  of  Mr. 
Hyams,  found  herself  left  to  the  same  invaluable 
assistant,  and,  realizing  her  failure,  would  at  once 
become  cheerful  and  take  what  was  offered.  Mr- 
Hyams'  methods  of  business  were  quiet  and  unosten- 
tatious, and  rumor  had  it  that  he  might  retire  at  any 
time  and  live  in  luxury. 

It  was  a  cold,  cheerless  afternoon  in  November  as 
Mr.  Hyams,  who  had  occasional  hazy  ideas  of 
hygiene,  stood  at  his  door  taking  the  air.  It  was  an 
atmosphere  laden  with  soot  and  redolent  of  many 
blended  odors,  but  after  the  fusty  smell  of  the  shop 
it  was  almost  health-giving.  In  the  large  public- 
house  opposite,  with  its  dirty  windows  and  faded 
signboards,  the  gas  was  already  being  lit,  which 
should  change  it  from  its  daylight  dreariness  to  a 
resort  of  light  and  life. 

Mr.  Hyams,  who  was  never  in  a  hurry  to  light  up 
his  own  premises,  many  of  his  clients  preferring  the 
romantic  light  which  comes  between  day  and  night 
for  their  visits,  was  about  to  leave  the  chilly  air  for 
the  warmth  inside,  when  his  attention  was  attracted 
by  a  seaman  of  sturdy  aspect  stopping  and  looking 
in  at  his  window.  Mr,  Hyams  rubbed  his  hands 
softly.  There  was  an  air  of  comfort  and  prosperity 
about  this  seaman,  and  the  pawnbroker  had  many 
small  articles  in  his  window,  utterly  useless  to  the 
man,  which  he  would  have  liked  to  have  sold  him. 

The  man  came  from  the  window,  made  as  though 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  153 

to  pass,  and  then  paused  irresolute  before  the  pawn- 
broker. 

"  You  want  a  watch  ? "  said  the  latter  genially. 
"  Come  inside." 

Mr.  Hyams  went  behind  his  counter  and  waited. 

"  I  don't  want  to  buy  nothing,  and  I  don't  want 
to  pawn  nothing,"  said  the  sailor.  "  What  do  you 
think  o'  that?" 

Mr.  Hyams,  who  objected  to  riddles,  especially 
those  which  seemed  to  be  against  business,  eyed 
him  unfavorably  from  beneath  his  shaggy  eye- 
brows. 

"  We  might  have  a  little  quiet  talk  together,"  said 
the  seaman,  "  you  an'  me ;  we  might  do  a  little  bit 
o'  business  together,  you  an'  me.  In  the  parler, 
shall  we  say,  over  a  glass  o'  something  hot  ?  " 

Mr.  Hyams  hesitated.  He  was  not  averse  to  a 
little  business  of  an  illicit  nature,  but  there  rose  up 
vividly  before  him  the  picture  of  another  sailor  who 
had  made  much  the  same  sort  of  proposal,  and,  after 
four  glasses  of  rum,  had  merely  suggested  to  him 
that  he  should  lend  him  twenty  pounds  on  the  secu- 
rity of  an  I.O.U.  It  was  long  since,  but  the  memory 
of  it  still  rankled. 

"  What  sort  of  business  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Business  that's  too  big  for  you,  p'raps,"  said  the 
sailor  with  a  lordly  air.  "  I'll  try  a  bigger  place. 
What's  that  lantern-faced  swab  shoving  his  ugly  mug 
into  the  daylight  for  ?  " 

"  Get  off,"  said  the  pawnbroker  to  the  assistant, 
who  was  quietly  and  unobtrusively  making  a  third. 


154          THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

"  Mind  the  shop.  This  gentleman  and  I  have  busi- 
ness in  the  parlor.  Come  this  way,  sir." 

He  raised  the  flap  of  the  counter,  and  led  the  way 
to  a  small,  untidy  room  at  the  back  of  the  shop.  A 
copper  kettle  was  boiling  on  the  fire,  and  the  table 
was  already  laid  for  tea.  The  pawnbroker,  motion- 
ing his  visitor  to  a  dingy  leather  armchair,  went  to 
a  cupboard  and  produced  a  bottle  of  rum,  three 
parts  full,  and  a  couple  of  glasses. 

"  Tea  for  me,"  said  the  seaman,  eyeing  the  bottle 
wistfully. 

The  pawnbroker  pricked  up  his  ears.  "  Nonsense,** 
he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  heartiness,  "  a  jolly  fel 
low  like  you  don't  want  tea.  Have  some  o'  this." 

"  Tea,  confound  yer !  "  said  the  other.  "  When 
I  say  tea,  I  mean  tea." 

The  pawnbroker,  repressing  his  choler,  replaced 
the  bottle,  and,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  reached 
over  for  the  kettle,  and  made  the  tea.  It  was  really 
a  pleasing  picture  of  domestic  life,  and  would  have 
looked  well  in  a  lantern  slide  at  a  temperance  lec- 
ture, the  long,  gaunt  Jew  and  the  burly  seaman  hob- 
nobbing over  the  blameless  teapot.  But  Mr.  Hyams 
grew  restless.  He  was  intent  upon  business;  but 
the  other,  so  far  as  his  inroads  on  the  teapot  and 
the  eatables  gave  any  indication,  seemed  to  be  bent 
only  upon  pleasure.  Once  again  the  picture  of  the 
former  sailor  rose  before  Mr.  Hyams'  eyes,  and  he 
scowled  fiercely  as  the  seaman  pushed  his  cup  up  for 
the  fourth  time. 

"  And  now   for  a  smoke,"  said  his  visitor,  as  he 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  155 

settled  back  in  his  chair.  "  A  good  'un,  mind. 
Lord,  this  is  comfort !  It's  the  first  bit  o'  comfort 
I've  'ad  since  I  come  ashore  five  days  ago." 

The  pawnbroker  grunted,  and  producing  a  couple 
of  black,  greasy-looking  cigars,  gave  one  to  his  guest. 
They  both  fell  to  smoking,  the  former  ill  at  ease,  the 
latter  with  his  feet  spread  out  on  the  small  fender, 
making  the  very  utmost  of  his  bit  of  comfort. 

"  Are  you  a  man  as  is  fond  of  asking  questions  ?  " 
he  said  at  length. 

"  No,"  said  the  pawnbroker,  shutting  his  lips  il- 
lustratively. 

"  Suppose,"  said  the  sailor,  leaning  forward  in- 
tently— "  suppose  a  man  came  to  you  an'  ses 

there's  that  confounded  assistant  of  yours  peeping 
through  the  door." 

The  pawnbroker  got  up  almost  as  exasperated  as 
the  seaman,  and,  after  rating  his  assistant  through 
the  half-open  door,  closed  it  with  a  bang,  and  pulled 
down  a  small  blind  over  the  glass. 

"  Suppose  a  man  came  to  you,"  resumed  the 
sailor,  after  the  pawnbroker  had  seated  himself  again, 
"  and  asked  you  for  five  hundred  pounds  for  some- 
thing. Have  you  got  it  ?  " 

"  Not  here,"  said  the  pawnbroker  suspiciously. 
"  I  don't  keep  any  money  on  the  premises." 

"  You  could  get  it,  though  ?  "  suggested  the  other. 

"  We'll  see,"  said  the  pawnbroker  ;  "  five  hundred 
pounds  is  a  fortune — five  hundred  pounds,  why  it 
takes  years  of  work — five  hundred  pounds " 

"  I  don't   want   no  blessed  psalms,"  said  the  sea- 


156  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

man  abruptly :  "  but,  look  here,  suppose  I  wanted 
five  hundred  pounds  for  something,  and  you 
wouldn't  give  it.  How  am  I  to  know  you  wouldn't 
give  information  to  the  police  if  I  didn't  take  what 
you  offered  me  for  it  ?  " 

The  pawnbroker  threw  up  his  huge  palms  in  vir- 
tuous horror. 

"  I'd  mark  you  for  it  if  you  did,"  said  the  seaman 
menacingly,  through  his  teeth.  "  It  'ud  be  the  worst 
day's  work  you  ever  did.  Will  you  take  it  or  leave 
it  at  my  price,  an'  if  you  won't  give  it,  leave  me  to 
go  as  I  came  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  the  pawnbroker  solemnly. 

The  seaman  laid  his  cigar  in  the  tray,  where  it 
expired  in  a  little  puddle  of  tea,  and,  undoing  his 
coat,  cautiously  took  from  his  waist  a  canvas  belt. 
In  a  hesitating  fashion  he  dangled  the  belt  in  his 
hands,  looking  from  the  Jew  to  the  door,  and  from 
the  door  back  to  the  Jew  again.  Then  from  a  pocket 
in  the  belt  he  took  something  wrapped  in  a  small 
piece  of  dirty  flannel,  and,  unrolling  it,  deposited  on 
the  table  a  huge  diamond,  whose  smouldering  fires 
flashed  back  in  many  colors  the  light  from  the  gas. 

The  Jew,  with  an  exclamation,  reached  forward 
to  handle  it,  but  the  sailor  thrust  him  back. 

"  Hands  off,"  he  said  grimly.  "  None  of  your 
ringing  the  changes  on  me." 

He  tipped  it  over  with  his  finger-nail  on  the  table 
from  side  to  side,  the  other,  with  his  head  bent  down, 
closely  inspecting  it.  Then,  as  a  great  indulgence, 
he  laid  it  on  the  Jew's  open  palm  for  a  few  seconds. 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 


157 


"  Five  hundred  pounds,"  he  said,  taking  it  in  his 
own  hands  again. 

The  pawnbroker  laughed.  It  was  a  laugh  which 
he  kept  for  business  purposes,  and  would  have 
formed  a  valuable  addition  to  the  goodwill  of  the 
shop. 

"  I'll  give  you  fifty,"  he  said,  after  he  had  regained 
his  composure. 

The  seaman  replaced  the  gem  in  its  wrapper 
again. 

"  Well,  I'll  give  you  seventy,  and  risk  whether  I 
lose  over  it,"  continued  the  pawnbroker. 

"  Five  hundred's  my  price,"  said  the  seaman  calmly, 
as  he  placed  the  belt  about  his  waist  and  began  to 
buckle  it  up. 

"  Seventy-five,"  said  the  pawnbroker  persuasively. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  seaman,  regarding  him 
sternly,  "  you  drop  it.  I'm  not  going  to  haggle  with 
you.  I'm  not  going  to  haggle  with  any  man.  I 
ain't  no  judge  o'  diamonds,  but  I've  'ad  cause  to  know 
as  this  is  something  special.  See  here." 

He  rolled  back  the  coat  sleeve  from  his  brawny 
arm,  and  revealed  a  long,  newly  healed  scar. 

"  I  risked  my  life  for  that  stone,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  I  value  my  life  at  five  hundred  pounds.  It's  likely 
worth  more  than  as  many  thousands,  and  you  know 
it.  However,  good-night  to  you,  mate.  How  much 
for  the  tea  ?  " 

He  put  his  hand  contemptuously  in  his  trouser 
pocket,  and  pulled  out  some  small  change. 

"  There's  the  risk  of  getting  rid  of  the  stojie," 


158  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

said  the  pawnbroker,  pushing  aside  the  proffered 
coin.  "  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  Has  it  got  a 
history?" 

"  Not  in  Europe  it  ain't,"  said  the  seaman.  "  So 
far  as  I  know,  you  an'  me  an'  one  other  are  the  only 
white  men  as  know  of  it.  That's  all  I'm  going  to 
tell  you." 

"  Do  you  mind  waiting  while  I  go  and  fetch  a 
friend  of  mine  to  see  it  ?"  inquired  the  pawnbroker. 
"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  added  hastily.  "  He's 
a  respectable  man  and  as  close  as  the  grave." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  the  seaman  quietly.  "  But 
no  larks,  mind.  I'm  not  a  nice  man  to  play  them 
on.  I'm  pretty  strong,  an'  I've  got  something  else 
besides." 

He  settled  himself  in  the  armchair  again,  and  ac- 
cepting another  cigar,  watched  his  host  as  he  took 
his  hat  from  the  sideboard. 

41  I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can,"  said  the  latter 
somewhat  anxiously.  "  You  won't  go  before  I 
come  ?  " 

"  Not  me,"  said  the  seaman  bluntly.  "  When  I 
say  a  thing  I  stick  to  it.  I  don't  haggle,  and  haggle, 

and "  he  paused  a  moment  for  a  word,  "and 

haggle,"  he  concluded. 

Left  to  himself,  he  smoked  on  contentedly,  blandly 
undisturbed  by  the  fact  that  the  assistant  looked  in 
at  the  door  occasionally,  to  see  that  things  were  all 
right.  It  was  quite  a  new  departure  for  Mr.  Hyams 
to  leave  his  parlor  to  a  stranger,  and  the  assistant 
felt  a  sense  of  responsibility  so  great  that  it  was  a 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  159 

positive  relief  to  him  when  his  master  returned, 
accompanied  by  another  man. 

"This  is  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Hyams,  as  they 
entered  the  parlor  and  closed  the  door.  "  You  might 
let  him  see  the  stone." 

The  seaman  took  off  his  belt  again,  and  placing  the 
diamond  in  his  hand  held  it  before  the  stranger  who, 
making  no  attempt  to  take  it,  turned  it  over  with  his 
finger  and  examined  it  critically. 

"  Are  you  going  to  sea  again  just  yet  ? "  he  in- 
quired softly. 

"  Thursday  night,"  said  the  seaman,  "  Five  hun- 
dred is  my  price  ;  p'raps  he  told  you.  I'm  not  going 
to  haggle." 

"Just  so,  just  so,"  said  the  other  quietly.  "It's 
worth  five  hundred." 

"Spoke  like  a  man,"  said  the  seaman  warmly. 

"  I  like  to  deal  with  a  man  who  knows  his  own 
mind,"  said  the  stranger,  "  it  saves  trouble.  But  if 
we  buy  it  for  that  amount  you  must  do  one  thing  for 
us.  Keep  quiet  and  don't  touch  a  drop  of  liquor 
until  you  sail,  and  not  a  word  to  anybody." 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  o'  the  licker,"  said  the  sailor 
grimly.  "  I  shan't  touch  that  for  my  own  sake." 

"  He's  a  teetotaler,"  explained  the  pawnbroker. 

"  He's  not,"  said  the  seaman  indignantly. 

"  Why  won't  you  drink,  then  ?  "  asked  the  other 
man. 

"  Fancy,"  said  the  seaman  dryly,  and  closed  his 
mouth. 

Without  another  word  the  stranger  turned  to  the 


160           THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

pawnbroker,  who,  taking  a  pocket-book  from  his 
coat,  counted  out  the  amount  in  notes.  These, 
after  the  sailor  had  examined  them  in  every  possible 
manner,  he  rolled  up  and  put  in  his  pocket,  then 
without  a  word  he  took  out  the  diamond  again  and 
laid  it  silently  on  the  table.  Mr.  Hyams,  his  fingers 
trembling  with  eagerness,  took  it  up  and  examined 
it  delightedly. 

"You've  got  it  a  bargain,"  said  the  searran. 
"  Good-night,  gentlemen.  I  hope,  for  your  sahes, 
nobody '11  know  I've  parted  with  it.  Keep  your  ejres 
open,  and  trust  nobody.  When  you  see  black,  smell 
mischief.  I'm  glad  to  get  rid  of  it." 

He  threw  his  head  back,  and,  expanding  his  chest 
as  though  he  already  breathed  more  freely,  nodded 
to  both  men,  and,  walking  through  the  shop,  passed 
out  into  the  street  and  disappeared. 

Long  after  he  had  gone,  the  pawnbroker  and  his 
friend,  Levi,  sat  with  the  door  locked  and  the  dia- 
mond before  them,  eagerly  inspecting  it. 

"  It's  a  great  risk,"  said  the  pawnbroker.  "  A 
stone  like  that  generally  makes  some  noise." 

"Anything  good  is  risky,"  said  the  other  some- 
what contemptuously.  "  You  don't  expect  to  get  a 
windfall  like  that  without  any  drawback,  do  you  ?  " 

He  took  the  stone  in  his  hand  again,  and  eyed  it 
lovingly.  "  It's  from  the  East  somewhere,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  It's  badly  cut,  but  it's  a  diamond  of  dia- 
monds, a  king  of  gems." 

"  I  don't  want  any  trouble  with  the  police,"  said 
the  pawnbroker,  as  he  took  it  from  him. 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  161 

"You  are  talking  now  as  though  you  have  just 
made  a  small  advance  on  a  stolen  overcoat,"  said  his 
friend  impatiently.  "A  risk  like  that — and  you 
have  done  it  before  now — is  a  foolish  one  to  run ;  the 
game  is  not  worth  the  candle.  But  this — why  it 
warms  one's  blood  to  look  at  it." 

"  Well,  I'll  leave  it  with  you,"  said  the  pawnbroker. 
"If  you  do  well  with  it  I  ought  not  to  want  to  work 
any  more." 

The  other  placed  it  in  an  inside  pocket,  while  the 
owner  watched  him  anxiously. 

"  Don't  let  any  accident  happen  to  you  to-night, 
Levi,"  he  said  nervously. 

"  Thanks  for  your  concern,"  said  Levi  grimacing. 
"  I  shall  probably  be  careful  for  my  own  sake." 

He  buttoned  up  his  coat,  and,  drinking  a  glass 
of  hot  whisky,  went  out  whistling.  He  had  just 
reached  the  door  when  the  pawnbroker  called  him 
back. 

"  If  you  like  to  take  a  cab,  Levi,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice  so  that  the  assistant  should  not  hear,  "  I'll  pay 
for  it." 

"  I'll  take  an  omnibus,"  said  Levi,  smiling  quietly. 
"You're  getting  extravagant,  Hyams.  Besides, 
fancy  the  humor  of  sitting  next  to  a  pickpocket  with 
this  on  me." 

He  waved  a  cheery  farewell,  and  the  pawnbroker, 
watching  him  from  the  door,  scowled  angrily  as  he 
saw  his  light-hearted  friend  hail  an  omnibus  at  the 
corner  and  board  it.  Then  he  went  back  to  the  shop, 
and  his  everyday  business  of  making  advances  on 


162  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

flat-irons  and  other  realizable  assets  of  the  neighbor, 
hood. 

At  ten  o'clock  he  closed  for  the  night,  the  assist- 
ant hurriedly  pulling  down  the  shutters  that  his  time 
for  recreation  might  not  be  unduly  curtailed.  He 
slept  off  the  premises,  and  the  pawnbroker,  after  his 
departure,  made  a  slight  supper,  and  sat  revolving 
the  affairs  of  the  day  over  another  of  his  black  cigars 
until  nearly  midnight.  Then,  well  contented  with 
himself,  he  went  up  the  bare,  dirty  stairs  to  his  room 
and  went  to  bed,  and,  despite  the  excitement  of  the 
evening,  was  soon  in  a  loud  slumber,  from  which  he 
was  aroused  by  a  distant  and  sustained  knocking, 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  163 


CHAPTER  II. 

AT  first  the  noise  mingled  with  his  dreams,  and 
helped  to  form  them.  He  was  down  a  mine,  and 
grimy  workers  with  strong  picks  were  knocking 
diamonds  from  the  walls,  diamonds  so  large  that  he 
became  despondent  at  the  comparative  smallness  of 
his  own.  Then  he  awoke  suddenly  and  sat  up  with 
a  start,  rubbing  his  eyes.  The  din  was  infernal  to  a 
man  who  liked  to  do  a  quiet  business  in  an  unobtru- 
sive way.  It  was  a  knocking  which  he  usually  asso- 
ciated with  the  police,  and  it  came  from  his  side  door. 
With  a  sense  of  evil  strong  upon  him,  the  Jew  sprang 
from  his  bed,  and,  slipping  the  catch,  noiselessly 
opened  the  window  and  thrust  his  head  out.  In 
the  light  of  a  lamp  which  projected  from  the  brick 
wall  at  the  other  end  of  the  alley  he  saw  a  figure 
below. 

"  Hulloa  !  "  said  the  Jew  harshly. 

His  voice  was  drowned  in  the  noise. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  yelled.  "  Hulloa,  there ! 
What  do  you  want,  I  say  ?  " 

The  knocking  ceased,  and  the  figure,  stepping 
back  a  little,  looked  up  at  the  window. 

"  Come  down  and  open  the  door,"  said  a  voice 
which  the  pawnbroker  recognized  as  the  sailor's. 


164  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

"  Go  away,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  stern  voice.  "  Do 
you  want  to  rouse  the  neighborhood  ?  " 

"  Come  down  and  let  me  in,"  said  the  other.  "  It's 
for  your  own  good.  You're  a  dead  man  if  you 
don't." 

Impressed  by  his  manner  the  Jew,  after  bidding 
him  shortly  not  to  make  any  more  noise,  lit  his  candle, 
and,  dressing  hurriedly,  took  the  light  in  his  hand 
and  went  grumbling  downstairs  into  the  shop. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  he  said  through  the 
door. 

"  Let  me  in  and  I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  other,  "  or 
I'll  bawl  it  through  the  keyhole,  if  you  like." 

The  Jew,  placing  the  candle  on  the  counter,  drew 
back  the  heavy  bolts  and  cautiously  opened  the  door. 
The  seaman  stepped  in,  and,  as  the  other  closed  the 
door,  vaulted  on  to  the  counter  and  sat  there  with 
his  legs  dangling. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said,  nodding  approvingly  in 
the  direction  of  the  Jew's  right  hand.  "  I  hope  you 
know  how  to  use  it." 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  demanded  the  other 
irritably,  putting  his  hand  behind  him.  "  What  time 
o'  night  do  you  call  this  for  turning  respectable  men 
out  of  their  beds?" 

"  I  didn't  come  for  the  pleasure  o'  seeing  your 
pretty  face  again,  you  can  bet,"  said  the  seaman 
carelessly.  "  It's  good  nature  what's  brought  me 
here.  What  have  you  done  with  that  diamond  ?  " 

"  That's  my  business,"  said  the  other.  "  What  do 
you  want  ? " 


THF  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  165 

"  I  told  you  I  sailed  in  five  days,"  said  the  sea- 
man. "  Well,  I  got  another  ship  this  evening  in- 
stead, and  I  sail  at  6  a.m.  Things  are  getting  just 
a  bit  too  thick  for  me,  an'  I  thought  out  o'  pure 
good  nature  I'd  step  round  and  put  you  on  your 
guard." 

"Why  didn't  you  do  so  at  first?  "  said  the  Jew, 
eyeing  him  suspiciously. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  want  to  spoil  a  bargain,"  said  the 
seaman  carelessly.  "  Maybe,  you  wouldn't  have 
bought  the  stone  if  I  had  told  you.  Mind  that 
thing  don't  go  off ;  I  don't  want  to  rob  you.  Point 
it  the  other  way." 

"  There  was  four  of  us  in  that  deal,"  he  continued, 
after  the  other  had  complied  with  his  request.  "  Me 
an'  Jack  Ball  and  Nosey  Wheeler  and  a  Burmese 
chap;  the  last  I  see  o'  Jack  Ball  he  was  quiet  and 
peaceful,  with  a  knife  sticking  in  his  chest.  If  I 
hadn't  been  a  very  careful  man  I'd  have  had  one 
sticking  in  mine.  If  you  ain't  a  very  careful  man, 
and  do  what  I  tell  you,  you'll  have  one  sticking  in 
yours." 

"  Speak  a  little  more  plainly,"  said  the  Jew. 
"  Come  into  the  parlor,  I  don't  want  the  police  to 
see  a  light  in  the  shop." 

"  We  stole  it,"  said  the  seaman,  as  he  followed  the 
other  into  the  little  back  parlor,  "  the  four  of  us, 
from " 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  that,"  in- 
terrupted the  other  hastily. 

The  sailor  grinned  approvingly,  and  continued: 


1 66  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

•*  Then  me  an'  Jack  being  stronger  than  them,  we 
took  it  from  them  two,  but  they  got  level  with  poor 
Jack.  I  shipped  before  the  mast  on  a  barque,  and 
they  came  over  by  steamer  an'  waited  for  me." 

"  Well,  you're  not  afraid  of  them  ?  "  said  the  Jew 
interrogatively.  "  Besides,  a  word  to  the  police " 

"  Telling  'em  all  about  the  diamond,"  said  the 
seaman.  "  Oh,  yes.  Well,  you  can  do  that  now  if 
you  feel  so  inclined.  They  know  all  about  that, 
bless  you,  and,  if  they  were  had,  they'd  blab  about 
the  diamond." 

"Have  they  been  dogging  you?"  inquired  the 
pawnbroker. 

"  Dogging  me ! "  said  the  seaman.  "  Dogging's 
no  word  for  it.  Wherever  I've  been  they've  been 
my  shadders.  They  want  to  hurt  me,  but  they're 
careful  about  being  hurt  themselves.  That's  where 
I  have  the  pull  of  them.  They  want  the  stone  back 
first,  and  revenge  afterwards,  so  I  thought  I'd  put 
you  on  your  guard,  for  they  pretty  well  guess  who's 
got  the  thing  now.  You'll  know  Wheeler  by  his 
nose,  which  is  broken." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  them,"  said  the  Jew,  "  but 
thank  you  for  telling  me.  Did  they  follow  you 
here?" 

"They're  outside,  I've  no  doubt,"  said  the  other; 
"  but  they  come  along  like  human  cats — leastways, 
the  Burmah  chap  does.  You  want  eyes  in  the  back 
of  your  head  for  them  almost.  The  Burmese  is  an 
old  man  and  soft  as  velvet,  and  Jack  Ball  just  afore 
he  died  was  going  to  tell  me  something  about  him. 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  167 

I  don't  know  what  it  was ;  but,  pore  Jack,  he  was  a 
superstitious  sort  o'  chap,  and  I  know  it  was  some- 
thing horrible.  He  was  as  brave  as  a  lion,  was  Jack, 
but  he  was  afraid  o'  that  little  shrivelled-up  Bur- 
mese. They'll  follow  me  to  the  ship  to-night.  If 
they'll  only  come  close  enough,  and  there's  nobody 
nigh,  I'll  do  Jack  a  good  turn." 

"  Stay  here  till  the  morning,"  said  the  Jew. 

The  seaman  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  want  to 
miss  my  ship,"  said  he ;  "  but  remember  what  I've 
told  you,  and  mind,  they're  villains,  both  of  them, 
and  if  you  are  not  very  careful,  they'll  have  you, 
sooner  or  later.  Good-night !  " 

He  buttoned  up  his  coat,  and  leading  the  way  to 
the  door,  followed  by  the  Jew  with  the  candle, 
opened  it  noiselessly,  and  peered  carefully  out  right 
and  left.  The  alley  was  empty. 

"Take  this,"  said  the  Jew,  proffering  his  pistol. 

"I've  got  one,"  said  the  seaman.     "Good-night!" 

He  strode  boldly  up  the  alley,  his  footsteps  sound- 
ing loudly  in  the  silence  of  the  night.  The  Jew 
watched  him  to  the  corner,  and  then,  closing  the 
door,  secured  it  with  extra  care,  and  went  back  to 
his  bedroom,  where  he  lay  meditating  upon  the 
warning  which  had  just  been  given  to  him  until  he 
fell  asleep. 

Before  going  downstairs  next  morning  he  placed 
the  revolver  in  his  pocket,  not  necessarily  for  use, 
but  as  a  demonstration  of  the  lengths  to  which  he 
was  prepared  to  go.  His  manner  with  two  or  three 
inoffensive  gentlemen  of  color  was  also  somewhat 


1 68  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

strained.  Especially  was  this  the  case  with  a  worthy 
Lascar,  who,  knowing  no  English,  gesticulated  cheer- 
fully in  front  of  him  with  a  long  dagger  which  he 
wanted  to  pawn. 

The  morning  passed  without  anything  happening, 
and  it  was  nearly  dinner-time  before  anything  oc- 
curred to  justify  the  sailor's  warning.  Then,  hap- 
pening to  glance  at  the  window,  he  saw  between  the 
articles  which  were  hanging  there  a  villainous  face, 
the  principal  feature  of  which  being  strangely  bent 
at  once  recalled  the  warning  of  the  sailor.  As  he 
looked  the  face  disappeared,  and  a  moment  later  its 
owner,  after  furtively  looking  in  at  the  side  door, 
entered  quietly. 

"  Morning,  boss,"  said  he. 

The  pawnbroker  nodded  and  waited. 

"  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you,  boss,"  said 
the  man,  after  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"All  right,  go  on,"  said  the  other. 

"  What  about  'im  ?  "  said  the  man,  indicating  the 
assistant  with  a  nod. 

"  Well,  what  about  him  ?  "  inquired  the  Jew. 

"  What  I've  got  to  say  is  private,"  said  the  man. 

The  Jew  raised  his  eyebrows. 

44  You  can  go  in  and  get  your  dinner,  Bob,"  he 
said.  "  Now,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  he  continued. 
"  Hurry  up,  because  I'm  busy." 

"  I  come  from  a  pal  o'  mine,"  said  the  man,  speak- 
ing in  a  low  voice,  "  him  what  was  'ere  last  night. 
He  couldn't  come  himself,  so  he  sent  me.  He  wants 
it  back." 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  169 

"  Wants  what  back  ?  "  asked  the  Jew. 

"  The  diamond,"  said  the  other. 

"  Diamond  ?  What  on  earth  are  you  talking 
about  ?  "  demanded  the  pawnbroker. 

"  You  needn't  try  to  come  it  on  me,"  said  the 
other  fiercely.  "  We  want  that  diamond  back,  and, 
mind  you,  we'll  have  it." 

"  You  clear  out,"  said  the  Jew.  "  I  don't  allow 
people  to  come  threatening  me.  Out  you  go." 

"  Well  do  more  than  threaten  you,"  said  the  man, 
the  veins  in  his  forehead  swelling  with  rage.  "  You've 
got  that  diamond.  You  got  it  for  five  'undred  pound. 
We'll  give  you  that  back  for  it,  and  you  may  think 
yourself  lucky  to  get  it." 

"You've  been  drinking,"  said  the  Jew,  "or  some- 
body's  been  fooling  you." 

"Look  here,"  said  the  man  with  a  snarl,  "drop 
it.  I'm  dealing  fair  an'  square  by  you.  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head.  I'm  a  peaceable 
man,  but  I  want  my  own,  and,  what's  more,  I  can 
get  it.  I  got  the  shell,  and  I  can  get  the  kernel. 
Do  you  know  what  I  mean  by  that?" 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care,"  said  the  Jew. 
He  moved  off  a  little  way,  and,  taking  some  tarnished 
spoons  from  a  box,  began  to  rub  them  with  a  piece 
of  leather. 

"  I  daresay  you  can  take  a  hint  as  well  as  anybody 
else,"  said  the  other.  "  Have  you  seen  that  before  ?  " 

He  threw  something  on  the  counter,  and  the  Jew 
started,  despite  himself,  as  he  glanced  up.  //  was 
the  sailor  s  belt. 


170          THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

"  That's  a  hint,"  said  the  man  with  a  leer,  "  and 
a  very  fair  one." 

The  Jew  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  saw  that  he 
was  white  and  nervous;  his  whole  aspect  that  of 
a  man  who  was  running  a  great  risk  for  a  great 
stake. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  at  length,  speaking  very 
slowly,  "  that  you  want  me  to  understand  that  you 
have  murdered  the  owner  of  this." 

"  Understand  what  you  like,"  said  the  other  with 
sullen  ferocity.  "  Will  you  let  us  have  that  back 
again  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Jew  explosively.  "  I  have  no  fear 
of  a  dog  like  you  ;  if  it  was  worth  the  trouble  I'd 
send  for  the  police  and  hand  you  over  to  them." 

"  Call  them,"  said  the  other ;  "  do  ;  I'll  wait.  But 
mark  my  words,  if  you  don't  give  us  the  stone  back 
you're  a  dead  man.  I've  got  a  pal  what  half  that 
diamond  belongs  to.  He's  from  the  East,  and  a  bad 
man  to  cross.  He  has  only  got  to  wish  it,  and  you're 
a  dead  man  without  his  raising  a  finger  at  you.  I've 
come  here  to  do  you  a  good  turn  ;  if  he  comes  here 
it's  all  up  with  you." 

"  Well,  you  go  back  to  him,"  jeered  the  Jew ;  "a 
clever  man  like  that  can  get  the  diamond  without 
going  near  it  seemingly.  You're  wasting  your  time 
here,  and  it's  a  pity ;  you  must  have  got  a  lot  of 
friends." 

"  Well,  I've  warned  you,"  said  the  other,  "  you'll 
have  one  more  warning.  If  you  won't  be  wise  you 
must  keep  the  diamond,  but  it  won't  be  much  good 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  i?I 

to  you.     It's  a  good  stone,  but,  speaking  for  myself 
I'd  sooner  be  alive  without  it  than  dead  with  it." 

He  gave  the  Jew  a  menacing  glance  and  departed, 
and  the  assistant  having  by  this  time  finished  his 
dinner,  the  pawnbroker  went  to  his  own  with  an 
appetite  by  no  means  improved  by  his  late  inter- 
view. 


172  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  cat,  with  its  fore-paws  tucked  beneath  it,  was 
dozing  on  the  counter.  Business  had  been  slack 
that  morning,  and  it  had  only  been  pushed  off  three 
times.  It  had  staked  out  a  claim  on  that  counter 
some  five  years  before,  and  if  anything  was  required 
to  convince  it  of  the  value  of  the  possession  it  was 
the  fact  that  it  was  being  constantly  pushed  off. 
To  a  firm-minded  cat  this  alone  gave  the  counter  a 
value  difficult  to  overestimate,  and  sometimes  an 
obsequious  customer  fell  into  raptures  over  its 
beauty.  This  was  soothing,  and  the  animal  allowed 
customers  of  this  type  to  scratch  it  gently  behind 
the  ear. 

The  cat  was  for  the  time  the  only  occupant  of  the 
shop.  The  assistant  was  out,  and  the  pawnbroker 
sat  in  the  small  room  beyond,  with  the  door  half 
open,  reading  a  newspaper.  He  had  read  the  fi- 
nancial columns,  glanced  at  the  foreign  intelligence, 
and  was  just  about  to  turn  to  the  leader  when  his 
eye  was  caught  by  the  headline,  "  Murder  in  White- 
chapel." 

He  folded  the  paper  back,  and,  with  a  chilly  feel- 
ing creeping  over  him,  perused  the  account.  In  the 
usual  thrilling  style  it  recorded  the  finding  of  the 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  173 

body  of  a  man,  evidently  a  sailor,  behind  a  hoarding 
placed  in  front  of  some  shops  in  course  of  erection. 
There  was  no  clue  to  the  victim,  who  had  evidently 
been  stabbed  from  behind  in  the  street,  and  then 
dragged  or  carried  to  the  place  in  which  the  body 
had  been  discovered. 

The  pockets  had  been  emptied,  and  the  police  who 
regarded  the  crime  as  an  ordinary  one  of  murder 
and  robbery,  entertained  the  usual  hopes  of  shortly 
arresting  the  assassins. 

The  pawnbroker  put  the  paper  down,  and  drummed 
on  the  table  with  his  fingers.  The  description  of 
the  body  left  no  room  for  doubt  that  the  victim  of 
the  tragedy  and  the  man  who  had  sold  him  the 
diamond  were  identical.  He  began  to  realize  the 
responsibilities  of  the  bargain,  and  the  daring  of  his 
visitor  of  the  day  before,  in  venturing  before  him 
almost  red-handed,  gave  him  an  unpleasant  idea  of 
the  lengths  to  which  he  was  prepared  to  go.  In  a 
pleasanter  direction  it  gave  him  another  idea  ;  it  was 
strong  confirmation  of  Levi's  valuation  of  the  stone. 

"  I  shall  see  my  friend  again,"  said  the  Jew  to 
himself,  as  he  looked  up  from  the  paper.  "  Let  him 
make  an  attempt  on  me  and  we'll  see." 

He  threw  the  paper  down,  and,  settling  back  in 
his  chair,  fell  into  a  pleasing  reverie.  He  saw  his 
release  from  sordid  toil  close  at  hand.  He  would 
travel  and  enjoy  his  life.  Pity  the  diamond  hadn't 
come  twenty  years  before.  As  for  the  sailor,  well, 
poor  fellow,  why  didn't  he  stay  when  he  was  asked? 

The  cat,  still  dozing,   became  aware  of  a  strong, 


174          THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

strange  odor.  In  a  lazy  fashion  it  opened  one  eye, 
and  discovered  that  an  old,  shrivelled  up  little  man, 
with  a  brown  face,  was  standing  by  the  counter.  It 
watched  him  lazily,  but  warily,  out  of  a  half-closed 
eye,  and  then,  finding  that  he  appeared  to  be  quite 
harmless,  closed  it  again. 

The  intruder  was  not  an  impatient  type  of 
customer.  He  stood  for  some  time  gazing  round 
him  ;  then  a  thought  struck  him,  and  he  approached 
the  cat  and  stroked  it  with  a  masterly  hand.  Never, 
in  the  course  of  its  life,  had  the  animal  met  such 
a  born  stroker.  Every  touch  was  a  caress,  and  a 
gentle  thrum,  thrum  rose  from  its  interior  in  re- 
sponse. 

Something  went  wrong  with  the  stroker.  He 
hurt.  The  cat  started  up  suddenly  and  jumped  be- 
hind  the  counter.  The  dark  gentleman  smiled  an 
evil  smile,  and,  after  waiting  a  little  longer,  tapped 
on  the  counter. 

The  pawnbroker  came  from  the  little  room  be- 
yond, with  the  newspaper  in  his  hand,  and  his  brow 
darkened  as  he  saw  the  customer.  He  was  of  a 
harsh  and  dominant  nature,  and  he  foresaw  more 
distasteful  threats. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ? "  he  demanded  al> 
ruptly. 

"  Morning,  sir,"  said  the  brown  man  in  perfect 
English ;  "  fine  day." 

"  The  day's  well  enough,"  said  the  Jew. 

"  I  want  a  little  talk  with  you,"  said  the  other 
suavely,  "  a  little,  quiet,  reasonable  talk." 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  175 

"  You'd  better  make  it  short,"  said  the  Jew.  "  My 
time  is  valuable." 

The  brown  man  smiled,  and  raised  his  hand  with 
a  deprecatory  gesture.  "  Many  things  are  valua- 
ble," said  he,  "  but  time  is  the  most  valuable  of  all. 
And  time  to  us  means  life." 

The  Jew  saw  the  covert  threat,  and  grew  more 
irritable  still." 

"  Get  to  your  business,"  he  said  sharply. 

The  brown  man  leant  on  the  counter,  and  re- 
garded him  with  a  pair  of  fierce,  brown  eyes,  which 
age  had  not  dimmed. 

"You  are  a  reasonable  man,"  he  said  slowly,  "a 
good  merchant.  I  can  see  it.  But  sometimes  a 
good  merchant  makes  a  bad  bargain.  In  that  case 
what  does  the  good  merchant  do  ?  " 

"  Get  out  of  here,"  said  the  Jew  angrily. 

"  He  makes  the  best  of  it,"  continued  the  other 
calmly,  "  and  he  is  a  lucky  man  if  he  is  not  too  late 
to  repair  the  mischief.  You  are  not  too  late" 

The  Jew  laughed  boisterously. 

"  There  was  a  sailor  once  made  a  bad  bargain,** 
said  the  brown  man,  still  in  the  same  even  tones, 
"  and  he  died — of  grief." 

He  grinned  at  this  pleasantry  until  his  face  looked 
like  a  cracked  mask. 

"  I  read  in  this  paper  of  a  sailor  being  killed,"  said 
the  Jew,  holding  it  up.  "  Have  you  ever  heard  of 
the  police,  of  prison,  and  of  the  hangman?" 

"  All  of  them,"  said  the  other  softly. 

"  I  might  be  able  to  put  the  hangman  on  the 


176  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

track  of  the  sailor's  murderer,"  continued  the  Jew 
grimly. 

The  brown  man  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "  You 
are  too  good  a  merchant,"  he  said  ;  "  besides,  it  would 
be  very  difficult." 

"  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  me,"  said  the  Jew. 

"  Let  us  talk  business  like  men,  not  nonsense  like 
children,"  said  the  brown  man  suddenly.  "  You  talk 
of  hangmen.  I  talk  of  death.  Well,  listen.  Two 
nights  ago  you  bought  a  diamond  from  a  sailor  for 
five  hundred  pounds.  Unless  you  give  me  that 
diamond  back  for  the  same  money  1  will  kill  you." 

"  What  ?  "  snarled  the  Jew,  drawing  his  gaunt  figure 
to  its  full  height.  "  You,  you  miserable  mummy  ?  " 

"  I  will  kill  you,"  repeated  the  brown  man  calmly. 
"  I  will  send  death  to  you — death  in  a  horrible 
shape.  I  will  send  a  devil,  a  little  artful,  teasing 
devil,  to  worry  you  and  kill  you.  In  the  darkness 
he  will  come  and  spring  out  on  you.  You  had 
better  give  back  the  diamond,  and  live.  If  you  give 
it  back  I  promise  you  your  life." 

He  paused,  and  the  Jew  noticed  that  his  face  had 
changed,  and  in  place  of  the  sardonic  good-humor 
which  had  before  possessed  it,  was  now  distorted  by 
a  devilish  malice.  His  eyes  gleamed  coldly,  and  he 
snapped  them  quickly  as  he  spoke. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"This,"  said  the  Jew. 

He  leant  over  the  counter,  and,  taking  the  brown 
man's  skinny  throat  in  his  great  hand,  flung  him 
reeling  back  to  the  partition,  which  shook  with  hia 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  177 

weight.  Then  he  burst  into  a  laugh  as  the  being  who 
had  just  been  threatening  him  with  a  terrible  and 
mysterious  death  changed  into  a  little  weak  old  man, 
coughing  and  spitting  as  he  clutched  at  his  throat  and 
fought  for  breath. 

"  What  about  your  servant,  the  devil  ?  "  asked  the 
Jew  maliciously. 

"  He  serves  when  I  am  absent,"  said  the  brown  man 
faintly.  "  Even  now  I  give  you  one  more  chance.  I 
will  let  you  see  the  young  fellow  in  your  shop  die 
first.  But  no,  he  has  not  offended.  I  will  kill " 

He  paused,  and  his  eye  fell  on  the  cat,  which  at 
that  moment  sprang  up  and  took  its  old  place  on  the 
counter.  "  I  will  kill  your  cat,"  said  the  brown  man. 
"  I  will  send  the  devil  to  worry  it.  Watch  the  cat, 
and  as  its  death  is  so  shall  yours  be — unless " 

"  Unless  ?  "  said  the  Jew,  regarding  him  mockingly. 

"  Unless  to-night  before  ten  o'clock  you  mark  on 
your  door-post  two  crosses  in  chalk,"  said  the  other. 
"  Do  that  and  live.  Watch  your  cat." 

He  pointed  his  lean,  brown  finger  at  the  animal, 
and,  still  feeling  at  his  throat,  stepped  softly  to  the 
door  and  passed  out. 

With  the  entrance  of  other  customers,  the  pawn- 
broker forgot  the  annoyance  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected,  and  attended  to  their  wants  in  a  spirit 
made  liberal  by  the  near  prospect  of  fortune.  It 
was  certain  that  the  stone  must  be  of  great  value. 
With  that  and  the  money  he  had  made  by  his  busi- 
ness, he  would  give  up  work  and  settle  down  to  a 
life  of  pleasant  ease.  So  liberal  was  he  that  an  elder. 


178           THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

ly  Irishwoman  forgot  their  slight  differences  in  creeds 
and  blessed  him  fervently  with  all  the  saints  in  the 
calendar. 

His  assistant  being  back  in  his  place  in  the  shop, 
the  pawnbroker  returned  to  the  little  sitting-room, 
and  once  more  carefully  looked  through  the  account 
of  the  sailor's  murder.  Then  he  sat  still  trying  to 
work  out  a  problem  ;  to  hand  the  murderers  over  to 
the  police  without  his  connection  with  the  stolen  dia- 
mond being  made  public,  and  after  considerable  delib- 
eration,  convinced  himself  that  the  feat  was  impossi- 
ble. He  was  interrupted  by  a  slight  scuffling  noise  in 
the  shop,  and  the  cat  came  bolting  into  the  room,  and, 
after  running  round  the  table,  went  out  at  the  door 
and  fled  upstairs.  The  assistant  came  into  the  room. 

"  What  are  you  worrying  the  thing  for?"  demand- 
ed his  master. 

"  I'm  not  worrying  it,"  said  the  assistant  in  an 
aggrieved  voice.  "  It's  been  moving  about  up  and 
down  the  shop,  and  then  it  suddenly  started  like  that. 
It's  got  a  fit,  I  suppose." 

He  went  back  to  the  shop,  and  the  Jew  sat  in  his 
chair  half  ashamed  of  his  nervous  credulity,  listening 
to  the  animal,  which  was  rushing  about  in  the  rooms 
upstairs. 

"  Go  and  see  what's  the  matter  with  the  thing,  Bob,** 
he  cried. 

The  assistant  obeyed,  returning  hastily  in  a  minute 
or  two,  and  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  his  master. 

"  The  brute's  gone  mad,"  said  the  assistant,  whose 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.           179 

face  was  white.  "  It's  flying  about  upstairs  like  a  wild 
thing.  Mind  it  don't  get  in,  it's  as  bad  as  a  mad  dog." 

"  Oh,  rubbish,"  said  the  Jew.  "  Cats  are  often  like 
that." 

"  Well,  I've  never  seen  one  like  it  before,"  said  the 
other,  "  and,  what's  more,  I'm  not  going  to  see  that 
again." 

The  animal  came  downstairs,  scuffling  along  the 
pasage,  hit  the  door  with  its  head,  and  then  dashed 
upstairs  again. 

"  It  must  have  been  poisoned,  or  else  it's  mad,"  said 
the  assistant.  "  What's  it  been  eating,  I  wonder?  " 

The  pawnbroker  made  no  reply.  The  suggestion 
of  poisoning  was  a  welcome  one.  It  was  preferable 
to  the  sinister  hintings  of  the  brown  man.  But  even 
if  it  had  been  poisoned  it  was  a  very  singular  coin- 
cidence,  unless  indeed  the  Burmese  had  himself  poi- 
soned it  He  tried  to  think  whether  it  could  have 
been  possible  for  his  visitor  to  have  administered  poi- 
son undetected. 

"  It's  quiet  now,"  said  the  assistant,  and  he  opened 
the  door  a  little  way. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  the  pawnbroker,  half  ashamed 
of  his  fears,  "  get  back  to  the  shop." 

The  assistant  complied,  and  the  Jew,  after  sitting 
down  a  little  while  to  persuade  himself  that  he  really 
had  no  particular  interest  in  the  matter,  rose  and 
went  slowly  upstairs.  The  staircase  was  badly  light- 
ed, and  half  way  up  he  stumbled  on  something  soft. 

He  gave  a  hasty  exclamation  and,  stooping  down, 
saw  that  he  had  trodden  on  the  dead  cat. 


i8o  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AT  ten  o'clock  that  night  the  pawnbroker  sat 
with  his  friend  Levi  discussing  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, which  the  open-eyed  assistant  had  procured 
from  the  public-house  opposite. 

"  You're  a  lucky  man,  Hyams,"  said  his  friend,  as 
he  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips.  "  Thirty  thousand 
pounds  !  It's  a  fortune,  a  small  fortune,"  he  added 
correctively. 

"  I  shall  give  this  place  up,"  said  the  pawn- 
broker, "  and  go  away  for  a  time.  I'm  not  safe 
here." 

"  Safe  ?  "  queried  Levi,  raising  his  eyebrows. 

The  pawnbroker  related  his  adventures  with  his 
visitors. 

"  I  can't  understand  that  cat  business,"  said  Levi 
when  he  had  finished.  "  It's  quite  farcical ;  he  must 
have  poisoned  it." 

"  He  wasn't  near  it,"  said  the  pawnbroker,  "  it 
was  at  the  other  end  of  the  counter." 

"  Oh,  hang  it,"  said  Levi,  the  more  irritably  be- 
cause he  could  not  think  of  any  solution  to  the 
mystery.  "  You  don't  believe  in  occult  powers  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  This  is  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Commercial  Road  ;  time,  nineteenth  century. 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  181 

The  thing's  got  on  your  nerves.  Keep  your  eyes 
open,  and  stay  indoors ;  they  can't  hurt  you  here. 
Why  not  tell  the  police  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  any  questions,"  said  the  pawn- 
broker. 

"  I  mean,  just  tell  them  that  one  or  two  suspi- 
cious characters  have  been  hanging  round  lately,'* 
said  the  other.  "  If  this  precious  couple  see  that 
they  are  watched  they'll  probably  bolt.  There's 
nothing  like  a  uniform  to  scare  that  sort." 

"  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  the  police," 
said  the  pawnbroker  firmly. 

"  Well,  let  Bob  sleep  on  the  premises,"  suggested 
his  friend. 

"  I  think  I  will  to-morrow,"  said  the  other.  "  I'll 
have  a  bed  fixed  up  for  him." 

"  Why  not  to-night  ?  "  asked  Levi. 

"  He's  gone,"  said  the  pawnbroker  briefly.  "  Didn't 
you  hear  him  shut  up  ?" 

"  He  was  in  the  shop  five  minutes  ago,"  said 
Levi. 

"  He  left  at  ten,"  said  the  pawnbroker. 

"  I'll  swear  I  heard  somebody  only  a  minute  or 
two  back,"  said  Levi,  staring. 

"  Nerves,  as  you  remarked  a  little  while  ago,"  said 
his  friend,  with  a  grin. 

"  Well,  I  thought  I  heard  him,"  said  Levi.  "  You 
might  just  secure  the  door  anyway." 

The  pawnbroker  went  to  the  door  and  made  it 
fast,  giving  a  careless  glance  round  the  dimly-lighted 
shop  as  he  did  so. 


182  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

"  Perhaps  you  could  stay  to-night  yourself,"  he 
said,  as  he  returned  to  the  sitting-room. 

"  I  can't  possibly,  to-night,"  said  the  other.  "  By 
the  way,  you  might  lend  me  a  pistol  of  some  kind. 
With  all  these  cut-throats  hanging  round,  visiting 
you  is  a  somewhat  perilous  pleasure.  They  might 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  kill  me  to  see  whether  I 
have  got  the  stone." 

"  Take  your  pick,"  said  the  pawnbroker,  going  to 
the  shop  and  returning  with  two  or  three  second- 
hand revolvers  and  some  cartridges. 

"  I  never  fired  one  in  my  life,"  said  Levi  du- 
biously, "  but  I  believe  the  chief  thing  is  to  make  a 
bang.  Which'll  make  the  loudest  ?  " 

On  his  friend's  recommendation  he  selected  a 
revolver  of  the  service  pattern,  and,  after  one  or 
two  suggestions  from  the  pawnbroker,  expressed 
himself  as  qualified  to  shoot  anything  between  a 
chimney-pot  and  a  paving-stone. 

"  Make  your  room-door  fast  to-night,  and  to- 
morrow let  Bob  have  a  bed  there,"  he  said  earnestly, 
as  he  rose  to  go.  "  By  the  way,  why  not  make 
those  chalk  marks  on  the  door  just  for  the  night  ? 
You  can  laugh  at  them  to-morrow.  Sort  of  sugges- 
tion of  the  Passover  about  it,  isn't  there  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  mark  my  door  for  all  the  assas- 
sins that  ever  breathed,"  said  the  Jew  fiercely,  as  he 
rose  to  see  the  other  out. 

"  Well,  I  think  you're  safe  enough  in  the  house," 
said  Levi.  "  Beastly  dreary  the  shop  looks.  To  a 
man  of  imagination  like  myself  it's  quite  easy  to 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  183 

i 
fancy  that  there  is  one  of  your  brown  friend's  pet 

devils  crouching  under  the  counter  ready  to  spring." 

The  pawnbroker  grunted  and  opened  the  door. 

"  Poof,  fog,"  said  Levi,  as  a  cloud  streamed  in. 
"  Bad  night  for  pistol  practice.  I  shan't  be  able  to 
hit  anything." 

The  two  men  stood  in  the  doorway  for  a  minute, 
trying  to  peer  through  the  fog.  A  heavy,  measured 
tread  sounded  in  the  alley  ;  a  huge  figure  loomed 
up,  and,  to  the  relief  of  Levi,  a  constable  halted  be- 
fore them. 

"  Thick  night,  sir,"  said  he  to  the  pawnbroker. 

"  Very,"  was  the  reply.  "  Just  keep  your  eye  on 
my  place  to-night,  constable.  There  have  been  one 
or  two  suspicious-looking  characters  hanging  about 
here  lately." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  said  the  constable,  and  moved  off  in 
company  with  Levi. 

The  pawnbroker  closed  the  door  hastily  behind 
them  and  bolted  it  securely.  His  friend's  jest  about 
the  devil  under  the  counter  occurred  to  him  as  he 
eyed  it,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  lonely 
silence  of  the  shop  became  oppressive.  He  half 
thought  of  opening  the  door  again  and  calling  them 
back,  but  by  this  time  they  were  out  of  earshot,  and 
he  had  a  very  strong  idea  that  there  might  be  some- 
body  lurking  in  the  fog  outside. 

"  Bah ! "  said  he  aloud,  "  thirty  thousand  pounds." 

He  turned  the  gas-jet  on  full — a  man  that  had 
just  made  that  sum  could  afford  to  burn  a  little  gas 
—and,  first  satisfying  himself  by  looking  under  the 


184  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

counter  and  round  the  shop,  re-entered  the  sitting- 
room. 

Despite  his  efforts,  he  could  not  get  rid  of  the 
sense  of  loneliness  and  danger  which  possessed  him. 
The  clock  had  stopped,  and  the  only  sound  audible 
was  the  snapping  of  the  extinguished  coals  in  the 
grate.  He  crossed  over  to  the  mantelpiece,  and, 
taking  out  his  watch,  wound  the  clock  up.  Then 
he  heard  something  else. 

With  great  care  he  laid  the  key  softly  on  the 
mantelpiece  and  listened  intently.  The  clock  was 
now  aggressively  audible,  so  that  he  opened  the  case 
again,  and  putting  his  finger  against  the  pendulum, 
stopped  it,  Then  he  drew  his  revolver  and  cocked 
it,  and,  with  his  set  face  turned  towards  the  door, 
and  his  lips  parted,  waited. 

At  first — nothing.  Then  all  the  noises  which  a 
lonely  man  hears  in  a  house  at  night.  The  stairs 
creaked,  something  moved  in  the  walls.  He  crossed 
noiselessly  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  At  the  head 
of  the  staircase  he  fancied  the  darkness  moved. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  he  cried  in  a  strong  voice. 

Then  he  stepped  back  into  the  room  and  lit  his 
lamp.  "  I'll  get  to  bed,"  he  said  grimly  ;  "  I've  got 
the  horrors." 

He  left  the  gas  burning,  and  with  the  lamp  in  his 
left  hand  and  the  pistol  in  his  right  slowly  ascended 
the  stairs.  The  first  landing  was  clear.  He  opened 
the  doors  of  each  room,  and,  holding  the  lamp  aloft, 
peered  in.  Then  he  mounted  higher,  and  looked  in 
the  rooms,  crammed  from  floor  to  ceiling  with 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  185 

pledges,  ticketed  and  placed  on  shelves.  In  one 
room  he  thought  he  saw  something  crouching  in  a 
corner.  He  entered  boldly,  and  as  he  passed  along 
one  side  of  a  row  of  shelves  could  have  sworn  that 
he  heard  a  stealthy  footfall  on  the  other.  He  rushed 
back  to  the  door,  and  hung  listening  over  the  shaky 
balusters.  Nothing  stirred,  and,  satisfied  that  he 
must  have  been  mistaken,  he  gave  up  the  search  and 
went  to  his  bedroom.  He  set  the  lamp  down  on 
the  drawers,  and  turned  to  close  the  door,  when  he 
distinctly  heard  a  noise  in  the  shop  below.  He 
snatched  up  the  lamp  again  and  ran  hastily  down- 
stairs, pausing  halfway  on  the  lowest  flight  as  he  saw 
a  dark  figure  spreadeagled  against  -the  side  door, 
standing  on  tiptoe  to  draw  back  the  bolt. 

At  the  noise  of  his  approach,  it  turned  its  head 
hastily,  and  revealed  the  face  of  the  brown  man ; 
the  bolt  shot  back,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  Jew 
raised  his  pistol  and  fired  twice. 

From  beneath  the  little  cloud  of  smoke,  as  it  rose, 
he  saw  that  the  door  stood  open  and  that  the  figure 
had  vanished.  He  ran  hastily  down  to  the  door, 
and,  with  the  pistol  raised,  stood  listening,  trying  to 
peer  through  the  fog. 

An  unearthly  stillness  followed  the  deafening  noise 
of  the  shots.  The  fog  poured  in  at  the  doorway  as 
he  stood  there  hoping  that  the  noise  had  reached 
the  ears  of  some  chance  passer-by.  He  stood  so  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  then,  closing  the  door  again, 
resolutely  turned  back  and  went  upstairs. 

His  first  proceeding  upon  entering  his  room  was 


i86  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

to  carefully  look  beneath  and  behind  the  heavy, 
dusty  pieces  of  furniture,  and,  satisfied  that  no  foe 
lurked  there,  he  closed  the  door  and  locked  it. 
Then  he  opened  the  window  gently,  and  listened. 
The  court  below  was  perfectly  still.  He  closed  the 
window,  and,  taking  off  his  coat,  barricaded  the  door 
with  all  the  heaviest  furniture  in  the  room.  With  a 
feeling  of  perfect  security,  he  complacently  regarded 
his  handiwork,  and  then,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  began  to  undress.  He  turned  the  lamp  down 
a  little,  and  reloading  the  empty  chambers  of  his 
revolver,  placed  it  by  the  side  of  the  lamp  on  the 
drawers.  Then,  as  he  turned  back  the  clothes,  he 
fancied  that  something  moved  beneath  them.  As 
he  paused,  it  dropped  lightly  from  the  other  side  of 
the  bed  to  the  floor. 

At  first  he  sat,  with  knitted  brows,  trying  to  see 
what  it  was.  He  had  only  had  a  glimpse  of  it,  but 
he  certainly  had  an  idea  that  it  was  alive.  A  rat 
perhaps.  He  got  off  the  bed  again  with  an  oath, 
and,  taking  the  lamp  in  his  hand,  peered  cautiously 
about  the  floor.  Twice  he  walked  round  the  room 
in  this  fashion.  Then  he  stooped  down,  and,  raising 
the  dirty  bed  hangings,  peered  beneath. 

He  almost  touched  the  wicked  little  head  of  the 
brown  man's  devil,  and  with  a  stifled  cry,  sprang 
hastily  backward.  The  lamp  shattered  against  the 
corner  of  the  drawers,  and,  falling  in  a  shower  of 
broken  glass  and  oil  about  his  stockinged  feet,  left 
him  in  darkness.  He  threw  the  fragment  of  glass 
stand  which  remained  in  his  hand  from  him,  and, 


THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT.  187 

quick  as  thought,  gained  the  bed  again,  and  crouched 
there,  breathing  heavily. 

He  tried  to  think  where  he  had  put  the  matches, 
and  remembered  there  were  some  on  the  widow-sill. 
The  room  was  so  dark  that  he  could  not  see  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  and  in  his  fatuity  he  had  barricaded  him- 
self in  the  room  with  the  loathsome  reptile  which 
was  to  work  the  brown  man's  vengeance. 

For  some  time  he  lay  listening  intently.  Once  or 
twice  he  fancied  that  he  heard  the  rustle  of  the  snake 
over  the  dingy  carpet,  and  he  wondered  whether  it 
would  attempt  to  climb  on  to  the  bed.  He  stood  up, 
and  tried  to  get  his  revolver  from  the  drawers.  It 
was  out  of  reach,  and  as  the  bed  creaked  beneath  his 
weight,  a  faint  hiss  sounded  from  the  floor,  and  he 
sat  still  again,  hardly  daring  to  breathe. 

The  cold  rawness  of  the  room  chilled  him.  He 
cautiously  drew  the  bed-clothes  towards  him,  and 
rolled  himself  up  in  them,  leaving  only  his  head  and 
arms  exposed.  In  this  position  he  began  to  feel  more 
secure,  until  the  thought  struck  him  that  the  snake 
might  be  inside  them.  He  fought  against  this  idea, 
and  tried  to  force  his  nerves  into  steadiness.  Then 
his  fears  suggested  that  two  might  have  been  placed 
in  the  bed.  At  this  his  fears  got  the  upper  hand, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  something  stirred  in  the 
clothes.  He  drew  his  body  from  them  slowly  and 
stealthily,  and  taking  them  in  his  arms,  flung  them 
violently  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  On  his 
hands  and  knees  he  now  travelled  over  the  bare  bed, 
feeling.  There  was  nothing  there. 


i88  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

In  this  state;  of  suspense  and  dread  time  seemed 
to  stop.  Several  times  he  thought  that  the  thing 
had  got  on  tl  e  bed,  and  to  stay  there  in  suspense  in 
the  darkness  was  impossible.  He  felt  it  over  again 
and  again.  At  last,  unable  to  endure  it  any  longer, 
he  resolved  to  obtain  the  matches,  and  stepped 
cautiously  off  the  bed  ;  but  no  sooner  had  his  feet 
to  ached  the  floor  than  his  courage  forsook  him,  and 
he  sprang  hurriedly  back  to  his  refuge  again. 

After  that,  in  a  spirit  of  dogged  fatalism,  he  sat 
still  and  waited.  To  his  disordered  mind  it  seemed 
that  footsteps  were  moving  about  the  house,  but  they 
had  no  terrors  for  him.  To  grapple  with  a  man  for 
life  and  death  would  be  play  ;  to  kill  him,  joy  un- 
speakable. He  sat  still,  listening.  He  heard  rats  in 
the  walls  and  a  babel  of  jeering  voices  on  the  stair- 
case.  The  whole  blackness  of  the  room  with  the 
devilish,  writhing  thing  on  the  floor  became  invested 
with  supernatural  significance.  Then,  dimly  at  first, 
and  hardly  comprehending  the  joy  of  it,  he  saw  the 
window.  A  little  later  he  saw  the  outlines  of  the 
things  in  the  room.  The  night  had  passed  and  he 
was  alive ! 

He  raised  his  half-frozen  body  to  its  full  height, 
and,  expanding  his  chest,  planted  his  feet  firmly  on 
the  bed,  stretching  his  long  body  to  the  utmost.  He 
clenched  his  fist,  and  felt  strong.  The  bed  was  un- 
occupied except  by  himself.  He  bent  down  and 
scrutinized  the  floor  for  his  enemy,  and  set  his  teeth 
as  he  thought  how  he  would  tear  it  and  mangle  it. 
It  was  light  enough,  but  first  he  would  put  on  his 


THE  BROWN  MAN'b  SERVANT.  189 

boots.  He  leant  over  cautiously,  and  lifting  one  on 
to  the  bed,  put  it  on.  Then  he  bent  down  and  took 
up  the  other,  and,  swift  as  lightning,  something  issued 
from  it,  and,  coiling  round  his  wrist,  ran  up  the  sleeve 
of  his  shirt. 

With  starting  eyeballs  the  Jew  held  his  breath,  and, 
stiffened  into  stone,  waited  helplessly.  The  tight- 
ness round  his  arm  relaxed  as  the  snake  drew  the 
whole  of  its  body  under  the  sleeve  and  wound  round 
his  arm.  He  felt  its  head  moving.  It  came  wrig- 
gling across  his  chest,  and  with  a  mad  cry,  the 
wretched  man  clutched  at  the  front  of  his  shirt  with 
both  hands  and  strove  to  tear  it  off.  He  felt  the 
snake  in  his  hands,  and  for  a  moment  hoped.  Then 
the  creature  got  its  head  free,  and  struck  him  smartly 
in  the  throat. 

The  Jew's  hold  relaxed,  and  the  snake  fell  at  his 
feet.  He  bent  down  and  seized  it,  careless  now  that 
it  bit  his  hand,  and,  with  bloodshot  eyes,  dashed  it 
repeatedly  on  the  rail  of  the  bed.  Then  he  flung  it 
to  the  floor,  and,  raising  his  heel,  smashed  its  head  to 
pulp. 

His  fury  passed,  he  strove  to  think,  but  his  brain 
was  in  a  whirl.  He  had  heard  of  sucking  the 
wound,  but  one  puncture  was  in  his  throat,  and  he 
laughed  discordantly.  He  had  heard  that  death  had 
been  prevented  by  drinking  heavily  of  spirits.  He 
would  do  that  first,  and  then  obtain  medical  assist- 
ance. 

He  ran  to  the  door,  and  began  to  drag  the  furniture 
away.  In  his  haste  the  revolver  fell  from  the  drawers 


IQO  THE  BROWN  MAN'S  SERVANT. 

to  the  floor.  He  looked  at  it  steadily  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  taking  it  up,  handled  it  wistfully.  He 
began  to  think  more  clearly,  although  a  numbing 
sensation  was  already  stealing  over  him. 

"  Thirty  thousands  pounds !  "  he  said  slowly,  and 
tapped  his  cheek  lightly  with  the  cold  barrel. 

Then  he  slipped  it  in  his  mouth,  and,  pulling  the 
trigger,  crashed  heavily  to  the  floor. 


THE  END. 


A     000196158     0 


